Dreams of Utopia
by Blackout lumii
Summary: Gamzee is a drug addict. Gamzee has decided to get clean. Of course, the road to recovery isn't as easy as it sounds when he has a knack for screwing everything up.
1. Don't Look Into the Light

**A/N: Guys. Ohmygod. It's my first fic on this site. So. Hum. Hi?**

**I really wanted to write a story focusing on how Gamzee would have gotten to be a druggie if he was a human. So cue the Sadstuck. Also, I plan on making the story alternate between present-day and flashbacks, so I'm warning you now to avoid any confusion :o)**

**Please review it if you can; it helps me to write better and encourages me to update 'cause then I'll know people actually give a shit about this. Plus it's really super nice to do so~**

******So without further ado, hope you guys like this!**

Chapter 1: Don't Look Into the Light

Gamzee Makara couldn't remember when he fell asleep, just the moments leading up to his collapse upon the overstuffed couch taking up residence in the middle of his living room. He remembered a few drinks with his friends, more than a few puffs with his other friends, and a long and painful journey home after a fight over something. He remembered the concerned looks he received from a passerby and the disgusted looks he received from almost everyone else. He remembered vomiting painfully over the bridge connecting downtown from the neighborhood where he lived, an upper-class dwelling separated by a small river. He remembered passing no one on those streets and having to sneak into his apartment in order to evade any cops enforcing the strict curfew. He remembered a blur of endless flights of stairs and a long search for the spare key he may or may not have left outside. He must have passed out somewhere in between finding the key and now, or perhaps he fell unconscious outside and someone had took pity on him and carried him inside.

Gamzee shook his head and winced as a sharp pain reverberated throughout his skull. No, the latter wasn't likely. He was the neighborhood drug addict whom no one had any idea why he stayed there, in the area with the perfect families with the perfect children and the perfect parents with their perfect jobs. No one would dare do anything nice for him; he wasn't worth it.

"Mother fuck," he groaned, somehow summoning the strength to slide off the sofa into an upside down pose, his gangly legs bending over his head. Why the fuck was he so flexible, anyways. Reaching out, he dragged himself to his small, messy kitchen where he pulled open a cabinet under the sink. Gamzee's half-lidded eyes looked around in the darkness for a moment before he grabbed a bottle of pills he kept hidden behind a box of trash bags. Rolling over to his back and sitting up, he popped the top off and tilted a few capsules into his palm. His stared at them for a moment, then threw his head back and swallowed the pills dry. His headache soon faded away into a blissful peace, where nothing disturbed him and he could hardly remember what he'd been doing earlier.

In his haze, he was not aware of the phone ringing until he heard a familiar ornery voice spewing tinny curses over the answering machine. Gamzee only had one friend who could hurl a profanity-laden dictionary of words at something in a single breath: Karkat. A lazy smile drifted over his face as he dragged himself up and slouched over to the phone.

Picking it up, he drawled, "Yo, what the mother fuck is up with my motherfuckin' punch line-blooded motherfucker?"

Karkat's anger seemed to increase exponentially when he heard the exaggerated slur in his voice, a telltale sign Gamzee was much higher than he normally was. "God fucking DAMMIT, Gamzee! How high are you to possess the ability to use all forms of 'mother fuck' in the same sentence within three words of each other? Where are you? Oh, let me guess: Ass-fuck deep in merry bliss miracle land spinning around in asshole rainbow flowers while fountains of that damned Faygo spew from the mouths of kittens shitting mountains of glitter. You goddamned FUCKASS, Gamzee, why do I even bother with you? Is my constant worry a result of some idiotic mistake I've made or am going to make at some point in the foreseeable future? Because if so, I'm time traveling to this mistake to give myself some much-needed advice before I have a chance to ruin my life forever." There was a pause. Gamzee heard heavy breathing on the other end before Karkat began speaking again, this time in a calmer voice. "Is your key in the same place it usually is? I'm coming over."

"Yeah, I motherfuckin' be all thinkin' it is. Want me to get my check on?"

"No. Just fucking… stay there. I'll just knock if I can't find it."

Gamzee's features split into an even wider smile. "I can get my agreement on with that. I'll be seein' you soon, best friend?"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and maybe get into some semblance of sobriety by the time I get over there. Your hyperactive metabolism should be able to burn through whatever you're on by then."

Gamzee heard the gentle beep on the other end; a poor substitute for how hard Karkat must have slammed the phone down. He stared at the receiver for a moment, then gently set it down and leaned against the wall next to it. The happy fuzz over everything had begun to dissipate already, leaving his world cold and hard and sharp, cutting into the palms of his callused hands and his over-sensitive eyes. The rising sun peeking from behind the curtains did not help his condition in any way. Karkat was right; his metabolism was working overtime, and Gamzee hated it.

_Gamzee, _a voice said on the edges of his hearing. Fuck, had the voices begun already? He looked longingly at the cabinet where his bottle of miracles were, the kind of miracles that chased the bad dreams away and the voices and the overwhelming desire to fucking kill _everyone_…

_GAMZEE,_ another said with more urgency and more venom. He hated it when they began yelling at him. Tearing his eyes away, he shoved the thought of taking more painkillers into a place where he would not think about it for a while. What he needed was his medicine. Gamzee's mouth twisted into a grim smile. Yeah, the various mood stabilizers and antipsychotics and anti-depressants the nice doctors gave him, promising it would make the voices go away. They worked sometimes, but it gave him a good reason to smoke another bowl or pop a few more pills whenever they didn't. He was sure this was not what the doctor meant by self-medication, but it worked well enough for him to continue on.

_Poison, they're poisoning you, Gamzee. Those little pills are rotting you from the inside out,_ the gentler voice said in a singsong manner as Gamzee blearily made his way to the tiny bathroom next to the kitchen where he kept his legal medicine.

_MOTHERFUCKING POISON, MOTHERFUCKER. CAN YOU NOT SEE IT? THEY'RE RUSTING YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HEAD SO EVERYTHING LEAKS OUT FROM THE GOD DAMNED HOLE. YOU'LL FORGET EVERYTHING, MOTHERFUCKER. _He pulled open the cabinet and began sifting through the various anti-psychotics the doctor had given him. Was it too late for the nighttime meds, or did he have to take the morning meds now? He checked his pockets for his phone on reflex and cursed when he didn't find it.

_Gamzee, we're trying to help you… we love you, Gamzee. _His voices spoke lies to him, that's what all the doctors and psychiatrists said. They lied and made everything worse. He repeated this statement over and over to himself as he stumbled down the hallway to his room, sometimes aloud, sometimes internally. Poking his head inside the darkness, he read the face on the digital clock beside his bed. 7:43. Fuck, so it was later than he thought. Gamzee returned to the bathroom to fetch the pills he took in the morning. Turning on the faucet, he fished out two small tablets and caught a bit of water in his palm. He could swallow them dry, of course, but the aftertaste was too bitter for him to take without washing it down with something nearby. Grimacing, Gamzee tilted his head back and swallowed the two pills, waiting for the taste of chalk and chemicals to hit the back of his tongue. He gagged once the flavor hit him, almost causing him to throw the tablets back up. He resisted the urge by hunching over the sink and remaining deathly still until the feeling passed.

_GAMZEE. MOTHER FUCK. LISTEN TO US._ The voice still yelled, but lost some of its strength. Gamzee straightened up and rolled his neck.

_We only want the best…_

_ ONE DAY, YOU'LL RUN ALL OUT OF THOSE POISON PILLS. AND THEN YOU'LL THANK US._

_ You'll see the world harsher than you like, but you'll see reality._

_ AND REALITY MOTHERFUCKING SUCKS._

_ But you'll take control of reality._

_ YOU'LL CONTROL ALL OF IT._

_ You'll understand who you are and who you're meant to be, and you will._

_ KILL._

_ Anyone._

_ WHO._

_ Gets._

_ IN._

_ Your._

_ MOTHERFUCKING._

_ Way._

The voices continued on in this fashion until they faded into silence, just in time for Gamzee to hear a rapid pounding on the door and a loud, angry voice. Karkat must have really been worried about him to reach his apartment so quickly; it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since he had hung up. He jogged to the door and pulled it open, rewarded with a few knocks in thin air from Karkat's slow reaction time.

Karkat Vantas was about five feet five inches of tightly wound, high-strung, pulse pounding fury; able to focus his prodigious anger into a narrow laser beam of hatred at whatever he wanted, such as the young man standing in front of him. Gamzee took a step back on reflex under his friend's intense glare, but regained his composure in time to beam happily at Karkat's scowl.

"Hey, best friend! You motherfuckin' found your way here pretty fast."

Karkat's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Move the fuck away from the door, assmunch. I'm coming in."

Gamzee moved away to make room for Karkat's entrance. The smaller surveyed the room with his nose wrinkled and turned to Gamzee.

"When's the last time you cleaned up or at least sprayed some fucking air freshener in here?"

Gamzee ran a hand through his messy curls. "I think… it was when Tav last came over."

Karkat let out a quick bark of incredulous laughter and motioned towards the larger bathroom near his bedroom.

"Get yourself clean and change into something other than the rags you stole from a pregnant pig. I'll attempt to clean this shit up so you can make me some goddamned breakfast."

"Shouldn't you be all offerin' to motherfuckin' cook me some grub since I'm up to be all taken care of?"

"No, because this is your fucking house. And also because you never let me near your pantry out of fear I'll 'motherfuckin' screw your shit the mother fuck up.'"

Gamzee grinned in amusement and nodded, slipping off into the bathroom while pulling his shirt over his head. His friend was right; Gamzee never let anyone near his ingredients.

Closing the door, he flicked on the light and turned to look at himself in the mirror. His sleepy reflection stared back at him, all six feet two inches of pale skin, wiry muscle, and gangly limbs. His natural dark circles were accentuated by his lack of sleep and the dark makeup smudged around his eyes, and along with his angular face, he had a slightly insane and threatening look that generally scared the shit out of anyone who did not know him. His messy, inky black curls only added to the escaped psychiatric patient appearance. Gamzee couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Anyone who assumed he was an escapee from the psych ward wouldn't be that far off.

His friends worried about his drug addiction and mental problems, of course, but after an accident when he was sixteen, none were too enthusiastic about taking him off his medication. Gamzee couldn't say he was enthusiastic either. If his voices were right about anything, it was that being sober left things much too real than he liked. As much as he hated it, he had grown comfortable with the cushy world of magic he lived in when he was high.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Gamzee's long fingers twisted the shower knob too far, causing a spray of warm water to douse his unsuspecting head. Too lazy to shake the water off, he merely grunted, pulled his bottoms off, and slid into the tub to sit cross-legged under the water. Once it had warmed up sufficiently, he stood up and grabbed the nearby bar of soap, working it into a lather and quickly washing off the grime and his makeup from the previous night. He groped for his shampoo and poured it onto his head, paying no attention to the amount until some got into his eyes.

"God motherfucking _dammit,_" Gamzee cursed as he washed his hair one-handed and tried to flush out his eyes with the other. The burn eventually evened out to where he could open bloodshot eyes and finish taking his shower. Karkat was going to definitely flip his shit once he laid eyes on him. Gamzee was already preparing an apology, albeit a weak one.

Gamzee wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. Karkat heard the noise and called to him from somewhere in the kitchen, "Gamzee, get your clown ass in here."

Fuck. "Could you hold your shit for a motherfuckin' sec, Karbro?"

"Why." It was more of a statement than a question.

"'Cause you see, I'm all motherfuckin' indecent, and I don't want this towel shit to all up and decide it doesn't wanna get its hold onto my waist anymore."

There was a long sigh. "You have thirty seconds to change into some pants and get yourself in here."

Gamzee saluted, then gave a quick thanks when he realized there was no way Karkat could have seen it. He hurried into his room, dumped the towel on the floor, then blindly rummaged around in his closet for a pair of boxers and some pants, not bothering to turn a light on. He pulled his boxers on in his room and halfway skipped down the hallway trying to put on his pants, managing to appear in front of Karkat with them almost pulled up and his still-wet hair in his face.

His best friend directed a withering look towards him and tapped his fingers on the countertop. "Gamzee, what the fuck. That was not meant to be taken literally, though I will commend you on speed."

"Well I didn't all want you to motherfuckin' burst a blood vessel all screamin' at me to hurry the mother fuck up," Gamzee said, grinning as he pulled his pants the rest of the way up. They were dark gray and slim-fitting, not like the normal polka-dot pajama pants he usually wore.

"Whatever. Anyways. Mind explaining what the hell these are doing under your sink?"

Karkat held up the bottle, the bottle that kept Gamzee functioning when his medicine refused to work, the bottle that allowed him to dream nice dreams and not the blood-filled nightmares showcasing his mirthful slaughter of his friends, the bottle that allowed him to be _normal_, or at least as normal as he could be without posing a threat to everyone around him or being a complete vegetable.

_Why the mother fuck did Karkat have that motherfucking bottle._

Gamzee was not entirely conscious of when he lunged at Karkat, but he was aware of pushing him into the counter, his face inches from the other's terrified expression.

"Give me the bottle, Karbro," he said in a hissing whisper.

"Gamzee, calm the hell down, alright? I'm not gonna take it away-"

"GIVE ME THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BOTTLE, KARKAT FUCKING VANTAS."

Karkat winced and held the bottle up. "Here," he said as meekly as he was capable of.

Gamzee snatched the bottle out of Karkat's fingers and slammed it on the counter, glaring angrily at him. From the way Karkat shrank back, he could tell he was terrifying. Good. Gamzee was suddenly aware of how he had to stand to make sure the light reflected off his unusual dark purple eyes in the most disconcerting way possible and strike the most fear in Karkat's heart.

"You done getting your snoop on with my stuff, _best friend_?"

Karkat's eyes closed and he let out the breath he had been holding. "Yeah, if you'll just tell me what the hell those are and why you're so fucking attached to them."

Gamzee glanced over at the small, innocent-looking bottle sitting about a foot from them. "They're…" He ran his fingers through his hair, swearing when he remembered it was still wet and it dripped all over the two. Karkat gave no sign of caring about the water dripping on his face.

"They're my motherfuckin' fuel, man. Like when the meds and shit don't work anymore and everything seems all too harsh for me to be dealin' with."

"What are they, Gamzee?"

"MOTHERFUCKIN' PAINKILLERS, MAN. To keep all the hurts of the entire motherfuckin' world off my fuckin' shoulders."

Karkat did not speak for a while, then cleared his throat and squirmed slightly. Gamzee took the hint and moved off Karkat, allowing the smaller to stretch and pat invisible specks of dust off him.

"Hey, Gamz, as much as I don't want you messing with those…" Gamzee bared his teeth, but Karkat held up a hand and shooshed him. "I'll let you if it works for you."

Karkat moved past Gamzee towards the door. "I'm gonna let you calm down for a bit. Call me when you do and maybe we can go hang out somewhere. Go get some breakfast or some shit."

He twisted the knob gave his friend one last look, a look filled with an emotion Gamzee felt too tired to try and decipher. After a few moments, Karkat closed the door and Gamzee was left alone.


	2. Do Not Grieve in the Suffering

Chapter 2: Do Not Grieve in the Suffering

Garrett James Makara. According to his mother, one of his great-grandfathers moved to India to get his Zen on and changed his name in order to fit in better. His grandmother moved back to the States when she was 12 and became a hippy, smoking weed like a cannabis-fueled train while pregnant at 17 with his mother. After she was born, his grandmother showed signs of schizophrenia, signs his own mother displayed once she hit 16. To combat the voices, they turned to drugs: first heroin, then cocaine, then a mixture of the two with whatever weed they had on hand and any alcohol the two had managed to procure. The deadly cocktail proved too much for his grandmother: she passed away at 36 when Gamzee's mother was five months pregnant.

The loss prompted his mother to experiment with everything she could find, with no regard towards the life she carried in her womb. It was a tumor to her, a growth she planned to snuff out as quickly as possible with drugs and alcohol. The baby's father abandoned her soon after, leaving a few dollars and a case of beer behind as a twisted form of compensation. Four months later, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, whom she named after the man she hated so. Eventually she grew too high to say his full name, so it was shortened to Gamzee. He never missed his old name; she had only called him Garrett James for exactly a year before changing it.

At three years old, Gamzee became cruel. The combination of his mother's substance abuse while he was in utero and a horrible upbringing turned him into a sadist at a younger age than he should have. He became known as a bully as soon as he started kindergarten, maliciously harming anyone who dared to say anything to him in the wrong tone of voice. Gamzee's reputation did not improve much as the years went on; if anything, it grew worse. His teachers would repeatedly write home about his behavior, voicing their concerns and recommending counselors, false words about how worried they were when in reality they just wanted him the fuck out of their classroom. His mother would receive the letters, read them with angry eyes, then beat him senseless with fists and belts. Afterwards, she would retreat to her room in tears and a bag of cocaine in her hand. An hour later she would stumble down the stairs, white powder smudged under her nose and around her mouth, a manic smile on her face as she grabbed the nearest thing and hurled it at Gamzee's face in an attempt to shatter his skull.

Eventually, she grew tired of dealing with her son and instead ignored him, referring to him as "it" and often forgetting to leave something out for him to eat at night. Gamzee grew fed up and learned how to cook on his own, emerging from his trial with burn marks all over his hands and face from the burning oil, but also with a passable meal that tasted much better than the canned food his mom would give him. Slowly but surely, out of pure determination and rage, Gamzee became pretty much self-sufficient, able to make his own food, buy whatever he needed with money stolen from his mother's purse, and get himself to and from events with his feet, a skateboard he took from the side of the road and repaired himself, and a rusty bike he found in the garage. All by the age of ten.

It was in fourth grade where Gamzee met one of the people who would change his life. He was sulking in a book-filled corner of the classroom, exiled there after trying to shove colored pencils into the ears of a kid who told him to pass the pencils in a rude voice. Arms crossed, he glared at everyone who came near, including a shy, Mohawk-haired Hispanic boy trying to get to the bookshelf near him. On a whim, he decided to stick his foot out, tripping the boy and sending him face-first into the shelf.

"Oops," Gamzee said, looking at him through bored half-lidded eyes, waiting for a response. His teacher made a move from the front of the room to assist the fallen student, but a hiss from Gamzee stopped her cold. She decided to watch the two, wringing her hand and waiting for a chance to intervene.

The boy never answered him, opting to stand up and hold his lip instead. Gamzee could see blood leaking out from between his fingers, the sight making his heart quicken with sadistic glee. With trembling fingers, the boy reached out to pull a book from the shelf, trying to ignore the one beside him.

"Yo," Gamzee growled, irritated. "I said something to you, idiot."

The boy shivered, but held firm. He stood up and walked back to his seat, setting his book down carefully and daring a quick glance over his shoulder at the wild haired boy glaring angrily in his direction.

"Um," he began haltingly, voice muffled by his hand. "What y-you d-d-id, over there… uh, wasn't th-that nice. At all."

"So. I can pretty much do what the hell I want in this class." Both Mohawk Kid and the teacher cringed involuntarily at his swear, but made no move to correct him.

"Tavros," the teacher said kindly, walking over and crouching down in front of him, blocking Gamzee's view. "Do you want to go to the nurse? It looks as if you have a nasty little scrape on your lip there."

"Um, I guess… I could," Tavros answered uncertainly, eyes darting around for assistance from anyone. Every student avoided his desperate gaze, everyone except for Gamzee, who stared at the boy like a dog would when confronted with a bone. A very large, very tasty bone.

"I can be all offerin' to take him, teach." Gamzee raised a hand and smiled as sweetly as he could while he talked. The teacher seemed surprised.

"Is this your way of accepting responsibility for your actions, Gamzee?"

The boy hung his head in mock shame while Tavros looked on in horror. "Yeah, I feel really kinda bad for what all happened earlier. Sorry, bro."

His teacher beamed. "Then you may escort him to the nurse's office, but you are to take him there and leave as soon as the nurse comes to check on him. Am I clear, Mr. Makara?"

"Yup."

She pushed Tavros gently towards the front of the room while Gamzee stood up from his corner and stretched his arms above his head, bending backwards at a severe angle. Even at a young age, he possessed nothing but limbs and flexibility. Yawning, he loped over to Tavros and headed out the door, smirking as he passed.

Once the two were in the hallway, Gamzee grabbed the other by the shirt and slammed him against a wall. Tavros easily outweighed Gamzee, but he was shorter and still terrified of what the boy was possibly capable of.

"Yo…" Gamzee's face split into a shark like grin. "Whatcha all motherfuckin' scared for? Gamzee ain't gonna fuckin' be throwin' punches or nothin'. He's just gonna take you to Ms. Nurse so your lip can be all fixed and shit. Why you tremblin' like a little bitch?"

"I… I don't know all of th-the words that you, um, said… But I c-can, uh, maybe, tell they were not good. And b-by g-good, I mean you p-probably shouldn't say them. Uh, you know."

"Man, who even cares, bro?" Gamzee let go of Tavros and surveyed him closely. "What be your motherfuckin' last name, huh? I know your first name is Tavros."

"N-Nitram. I'm Tavros Nitram."

"That's pretty weird, yo."

"I guess it can be. To people who, um, aren't me. I never really questioned it until… uh, until people told me it was weird."

"Why do you stutter so much? Talk like a normal motherfucker."

Tavros blushed and turned away to walk down the hallway, ignoring the other's command. Gamzee grabbed ahold of his shirt again, but this time Tavros refused to stop and stubbornly pushed forward. Gamzee gave up trying to pull the shorter boy back when the two were halfway to their destination and merely hung onto the fabric, allowing himself to be pulled along. Once the two reached the nurse's office, Tavros turned around to face Gamzee.

Without meaning to, Gamzee took in every aspect of his appearance. His irises were a light brown flecked with dark brown spots, set into a round, golden brown face with chubby cheeks. His brown-black hair was shaved close to his head aside from a strip of fluffy hair running down the middle of his scalp, some of it falling in wavy strands onto his forehead. A small mole peeked out from behind the pudgy fingers holding his injured mouth. Gamzee offhandedly recalled his bottom lip being bigger than his top lip and poking out further, turning his expression into a perpetual worried frown. He noticed no new blood blossomed from behind his fingers and was secretly glad, hoping no lasting damage was done. His teacher would have his head if the boy's lip were messed up forever.

"I'm here, so, uh, if you'll leave now…" Tavros looked at Gamzee warily while holding his lip.

"Your mouth stopped bleeding," Gamzee answered, caught by surprise but regaining his composure quickly enough. The smaller child took his hand away in surprise and touched his wound with his other hand. Brown eyes widening, he looked at Gamzee.

"Uh…"

"Hey, you can stay the fuck here if you want. Get a little Band-Aid from Ms. Nurse and be all taken care of and shit. I'm probably gonna walk around school so I don't have to see Mrs. Bitch Teacher for the rest of the day."

"But… she said…"

"Man, fuck what she says. Gamzee does what Gamzee wants to do, and that's that."

Tavros opened his mouth to say something, but Gamzee had already turned around, fingers curled into a peace sign and held aloft for the other kid to see.

Throughout the rest of the year, Gamzee would gradually open up to Tavros, first by allowing him to pass without trying to trip him, then with other small things, such as sharing supplies or moving his desk closer. Tavros, in return, warmed up to Gamzee, and would tell him stories about fairies and magical flying boys in green tights. At recess, Gamzee would try his best to act out the stories as Tavros told it to him; imagination running wild with how well Tavros told stories. His grades slowly began improving along with his mood, for his friend had gently pointed out that whoever had the highest grade by the end of the year got a special prize from their teachers. Gamzee knew his efforts were futile; he had maintained a solid F for the first three quarters of school and was firmly located on his teacher's bad side, but the happy smile on Tavros's face when he got a good grade made it worth the extra work.

Things changed once Gamzee and Tavros were in eighth grade. Gamzee had come home one day after a fun-filled day in English with Tavros, fingers wrapped around a poem that had won the two a poetry contest and cupcakes from their teacher. He hummed as he jumped off the bus and walked up to his house, the smallest and most run-down of all the dwellings on their street. Normally, it would bother him to walk up to that dump, but he was high from the happiness and the congratulations his best friend had showered upon him. His good mood ended suddenly when he found his mother passed out on the ground next to a bag filled with her ever-present cocaine and a bottle of pills. A closer inspection revealed his mother barely hanging on to consciousness, choking on what he assumed were the capsules lying next to her. He reached out with his right hand to touch her face, causing her gray eyes to fly open wide at the sensation and fix upon her son.

_Please, Gamzee,_ they seemed to beg desperately. _Help me. Help your mother._

Gamzee was faced with a decision: would he do the right thing and call 911, or would he let her die? His mouth twisted into a smile; it was an easy choice to make. To get help meant his mother getting taken away and locked up while Gamzee was put into a foster home. Her death would at least keep him safe until the body started smelling, but he could deal with that. Perhaps he would feed her carefully to the starving dogs that sometimes hung out near their house. Meat was meat, right?

His decision made, he let his right hand drop to her neck and made the other hand join it. Impossibly, her eyes grew wider and small noises began escaping from her mouth while she tried to shake her head from side to side, limbs twitching sporadically.

"What the mother fuck is wrong, huh?" Gamzee outlined the curve of her throat with a thumb. "Why can't you move, huh? What did you fuck up this time, _huh_?"

He squeezed her neck with more force than he probably intended. No noise came from his mother this time; the only sign she was in pain came from the increased twitching and her eyes rolling into her skull. Gamzee waited a while and let go, watching interestedly as the woman in front of him continued to choke, her windpipe crushed beyond repair. After what seemed like an eternity, she fell still, eyes still fixed on an unknown point in space and tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Gamzee felt no pity for her.

Calmly, he stood up and grabbed the cocaine and pills. His good mood was ruined, and if his deceased mother and past experiments were to be any clue, this miracle dust and these miracle pills would make him feel better. He walked over to their, or rather, his kitchen and fetched a straw. Emptying the bag onto the countertop, he used a spatula to line the drug up and cut it into several lines. Taking a few deep breaths, he quickly inhaled all of it, coughing a little once he had finished. He felt his heart and his breathing speed up, the room spinning and the floor tilting as he uncapped the bottle and dumped some of its contents out. Gamzee tried to grab a few of the bright white pills, but his vision filled with spots and he slumped to the ground, passing out just as his mother must have before he killed her.

He woke up hours into the night in front of their- _No, damn it, it's _mine _now,_ HIS dingy house to a man in a suit surveying his yard. Gamzee swung himself up to a standing position and backed up the porch to the door, the creaking stairs betraying him. The man turned quickly at the noise, a frown crossing his face.

"So you're finally up, huh?"

Gamzee said nothing. He just stared at the stranger warily.

"ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU, BOY."

His voice rang out and echoed through his neighborhood_, _like the man was determined to let the entire city hear his voice. Gamzee flinched away and ended up stumbling sideways.

"Yeah… I'm… fuckin' awake now…"

"Good," the other grunted. He motioned with a large hand towards the sleek black car parked in front of the two, a Ferrari, by the look of it. Gamzee cursed his blurred vision for not noticing the car that probably five times the rent on their house. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the dark purple designs running along the sides, twisting and undulating in an abstract design that sometimes resembled the clown smiley faces Gamzee liked to draw on Tavros's arms.

It was the sweetest fucking thing the boy had ever seen, and he couldn't wait to ride in it.

"Get the mother fuck in. We have some talking to do."

"What about my shit," the boy mumbled, eyes remaining fixed on the Ferrari, imagining himself driving it with the windows rolled down and Beastie Boys blasting out of the speakers.

"We'll worry about it later. I've got stuff at my place. NOW COME THE FUCK ON," he added impatiently when Gamzee made no move to walk over.

Despite his excitement, Gamzee reluctantly pulled away from the door and made his way to the car. The man held the door open for him to climb into the back, slamming it shut and getting into the driver's side once Gamzee had buckled himself in. After a few murmured curses and some fumbling with his keys, the engine purred to life, the bright headlights illuminating the cracked and patched street Gamzee lived on for his entire life. He couldn't help but stare longingly at the wreck he was so used to living in, memories of the place drifting through his mind.

"Now how the hell does my blood end up staying here," the man softly interrupted Gamzee's thoughts with his strangely powerful voice. "That good-for-nothing bitch…"

Gamzee's ears pricked up at the older man's words. _His _blood? Oh, what the hell.

"Excuse me," Gamzee said, waiting until the older grunted in acknowledgement before continuing. "What's this noise about me being 'your blood'?"

"You're my goddamn kid, what else would I mean." His voice was a mixture of annoyance, surprise, and amusement as he turned his head to face his son. Gamzee gasped as a light flicked on.

The resemblance was astounding. They had the same angular face with the same sleepy eyes and curving, joker-like lips. Their eyes carried the same blue-black circles underneath that framed his father's intense violet eyes and provided the same sharp contrast with their pale skin. Even their hair was the same: wild, unruly, jet black, and by no means tamable. Gamzee's elder allowed his hair to grow out to his shoulder blades and twist wildly wherever it wished to go, barely restrained by the rubber band keeping most of the locks out of his face.

However, their resemblance ended there. Where Gamzee was skinny with thin ropes of muscle running through his arms and legs from where he ran track, his father was immense with bulges of solid muscle threatening to split the seams of the tailored suit he wore. The boy's long, slender fingers were replaced with equally long fingers with large knuckles and veins standing out against the backs of his hands. But despite this, the man possessed an unearthly and slightly disturbing grace underneath his power and subtle sense of unpredictability. He commanded respect, and Gamzee was enthralled.

His father chuckled and turned around. "It fuckin' looks like I spit you out, boy. Shit, I'm guessing she didn't like you much."

Gamzee clenched the black leather seat while he responded. "Nah, man. She didn't like me at all. I be thinkin' that's kinda why she decided to all overdose on her pills and crack and shit."

"She was also messed up in the head, which is why I left her sorry ass. Too bad I couldn't take you with me. My job wouldn't have let me take care of a high maintenance baby while I was running around doing shit."

"Where do you work," Gamzee asked curiously.

"For a huge bitch that needs me to take care of shit for her." His dad laughed, the sound bouncing off the interior of the car and rumbling inside of Gamzee's head. The younger joined in nervously after a while, not quite getting the joke but not wanting to disappoint someone who had saved him from dealing with his mother's corpse.

Speaking of her body… "Yo, what're we gonna do about her?" Gamzee watched the back of his father's head carefully; wary of what expression was hiding behind the mass of black waves.

In a perfectly neutral voice that almost sounded robotic, he answered, "Dispose of it, of course. Send it to a morgue and pay them off not to speak. At least you didn't cut her up or something; now that shit would have gotten messy."

He laughed a little at Gamzee's petrified face in the rear view mirror. "Look, I know what you're going to ask next, and I'm here to tell you it's not important. What is important, and really fuckin' funny at the same time, is how you haven't asked me why I'm taking you away."

Gamzee squirmed a little in his seat, his baggy, painted-on sweatpants rustling a little. "'Cause… my mom's dead?"

"No, stupid. I didn't know your mom was dead until I went inside the house after making sure your high ass was alive. Try again."

"Because… well, I don't motherfuckin' know, man."

His father sighed. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fourteen, sir. My birthday was last week."

"So you're a Capricorn too, huh? Interesting. Anyways, you're fourteen years old. That's fourteen years underneath a shitty parent and an even shittier upbringing."

Gamzee could see his fingers clenching the wheel. "How long have you been using, boy? I don't want any bullshit about how that was your first time, because there's no way a motherfuckin' _boy_ can take that much shit without dying if that was their first time. Hell, a full-grown adult can't take that much without dying. Now," his head swung around to look straight into Gamzee's face. "How long has it been?"

The boy closed his eyes and mentally counted how long it had been since he first picked up his mother's bong and tried to copy how she inhaled the smoke. He cringed at the number.

"Since I was nine," he answered meekly.

His father stared in amazement, then leaned his head against the seat and exhaled slowly. "Mother fuck, she messed you up…" After a while, he curled a hand into a fist and held it back for Gamzee.

"Look, I'm takin' you to my place. It's a nice little condo in the city, so we can get you straightened out in much more comfortable quarters than that shack you lived in. Sound good, boy?"

Gamzee looked at the fist in front of him, pounding it with a grin.

"Hey, old man," he said.

"What is it," his dad answered, retracting his hand and replacing it on the steering wheel.

"My name's Gamzee."

He didn't have to see the grin that spread across his father's face; he could feel the amusement rolling off him in waves.

"Nice to fuckin' meet you Gamzee. It's been long enough."

* * *

**A/N: Title taken from the song "This is Absolution" by Killswitch Engage. **


	3. I Want to Live Life

Chapter 3: I Want to Live Life

Everyone stared at them and whispered, unsure of what to think of the two friends sitting off by themselves in the pancake house. Neither of them minded; they were used to the attention.

Karkat changed since he had walked out on Gamzee, wearing a black hoodie sporting a Grim Reaper and black jeans. He leaned back in his chair, gray Converse-clad feet propped up on the table. Gamzee had kept his gray pants on, putting on a dark purple shirt as soon as he calmed down enough to notice he had rampaged around his apartment shirtless and with the curtains open. The people who originally sat near them asked to move as soon as they laid eyes on the pair, much to Karkat's relief.

"Good fucking riddance," he growled once the last table had moved to the opposite side of the restaurant, taking a screaming baby with them. "Maybe we'll get some peace and quiet around here."

"Hey, best friend. Maybe you could calm your shit. I think they're all movin' 'cause of you."

"Oh, because the asshole with the juggalo paint looks completely innocent and it takes a foulmouthed Indian to make people move?"

"Man, you don't look Indian," Gamzee said, frowning at his friend's description while changing the subject. It was true: the only signs of Karkat's Indian heritage came from his jet black hair, spiky and messy from his refusal to go near a brush, his almond shaped eyes, his slightly tanned skin, and his longer nose. Gamzee himself had thought his friend was white until he met his father, a full-blooded Indian from Mumbai who would publicly voice his misgivings about Karkat being his legitimate son. His doubts were good-natured, of course. Karkat possessed one of the nicest parents Gamzee had the opportunity of meeting.

Steely gray eyes met violet ones as Karkat allowed himself a smile. "You idiot, that doesn't mean I don't have an Indian dad. Anyways," he held up the menu in front of his face and scanned it thoughtfully. "Should I get the Alpine Stack or the Fruit Explosion?"

Gamzee looked at his own menu, locating the two items. He grimaced; neither looked particularly appetizing, consisting of more powdered sugar and whipped cream than actual pancake.

"I don't motherfuckin' know… why don't you just get buttermilk pancakes and ring up the motherfuckin' day and tell it to go home?"

Karkat peeked out from behind the cardstock. "Because I need sugar and it looks fucking delicious." His face disappeared once more and he hummed while tapping his foot against the tablecloth. A few more minutes passed before he slammed the menu down upon the table with a smirk.

"I'll just ask if I can combine the two or some shit," he announced.

"You sure about that?" Gamzee felt sick at the mental picture forming in his mind of the teetering stack of diabetes his friend would receive.

"Hell fucking yes I'm sure. Stop questioning me." Karkat held a hand up and waved down a waitress. "If anything goes wrong, intimidate the fuck out of her until I get what I want."

The waitress, a pretty redhead, approached their table with a strained smile. Karkat's moody appearance and Gamzee's threatening looks must have scared the pancake house more than the two had previously thought.

"How may I help you two gentlemen this morning?" At least she had manners.

"Right, so I want to know if I can combine two things on the menu into one," Karkat asked, using the especially irritated tone he reserved for strangers.

She shifted her weight and thought about it for a moment.

"I'm sure you can. What would you like?"

"I want the Alpine Stack and the Fruit Explosion combined into some sort of dastardly configuration that will almost guarantee my future use of insulin shots."

Her face looked astonished, but she dutifully wrote it down. Turning to Gamzee, she barely concealed a wince at his face paint. "And for you, sir?"

"An omlette's fine with me."

"Would you like toast or bacon with that," she asked while she scribbled his order down.

'Nah."

"Okay! I'll be out with both of your stuff shortly." She smiled in relief and jogged off.

Karkat stared after her until she disappeared into the kitchen, at which point he leaned back with crossed arms and stared at Gamzee. They sat in silence for a while, Karkat fingers on his arms and Gamzee staring at the posters on the wall. Neither spoke when their food arrived, nor after they had eaten it all, Karkat practically licking his plate clean and drawing a disgusted look from the waitress as she picked his plate up. When the bill arrived, the spiky-haired boy dug out his wallet and fished a twenty out of its battered depths.

"You set," he asked, standing up and tugging his pants over his boxers.

"You motherfuckin' know it," was the reply.

The two wordlessly decided to walk near the beach, letting the sound of the waves and warmth of the sun calm them into an almost sleepy peace. Sitting down on a rock, Karkat patted the spot next to him.

"Come here, clown. I wanna talk to you."

Gamzee obediently sat; staring into the ocean while Karkat asked his first question.

"How are those drugs working out for you?" His best friends voice, raspy from years of screaming, was filled with concern.

Gamzee shrugged. "Well enough so I don't have to be goin' to that shithole of a hospital ever again."

"Maybe not, but the painkillers, Gamzee? Those things could kill you if you overdosed—"

"Yeah, and so could the legal drugs," the other spat with more venom than intended. Karkat sighed and ran a hand through his hair, abandoning it halfway due to the multitude of knots.

"Alright. You got me there. But you know, a month in rehab could help you, don't you think? I could find you a counselor; a good one, not one like the previous assholes."

"And what would that even motherfuckin' change, Karkat? I've been in and out of counselor's offices and doctor's offices and every other kind of motherfuckin' office you could name. All of 'em said they could help me, but look at me now…" Gamzee gestured to himself. "I thought things were gonna work out when the old goat showed up, you know? I was like, 'Fuck yes. Old bitch is gone and now shit's gonna motherfuckin' work out _right _for once.' But I was wrong."

Karkat reached up with a hand, seemed to think again, and let it drop. "He tried his hardest."

"You know what Karkat? You know what, best friend? THEY ALL TRIED." Gamzee was standing up, breathing heavily with the sudden rage pulsing through his veins. "All of those motherfuckers tried and ended up messing me up even more than I was. Why couldn't they have left me alone? Said, 'Gamzee Makara, you've got a problem, but you're handling your shit just fine so we're just gonna make sure you don't motherfuckin' overdose.' That would have been REAL NICE."

He flopped back down, staring angrily at the ocean. "The old goat was chill. The chilliest motherfucker I ever done laid eyes on in my life besides you guys. But even he left." Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Even he couldn't stand me, so he left."

A hand patted the side of his face. Gamzee looked over to see Karkat staring at him, concern emanating from every pore.

"You're such a fuckass," he whispered, pulling his friend into his chest and hugging his head. "He left trying to take care of you. Don't you dare forget that."

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts, 'cause I don't give a shit. He left trying to take care of you. Say it."

After a moment, Gamzee grudgingly repeated his words.

"Good. Your dad was a kickass fucker who loved you to death. Mr. Garrett Harry Byron will return one day, and when he does, he's going to kick your ass to the Oort cloud for being such a stupid little clown."

Gamzee grunted, his temper settling. Karkat was right, of course. He had a way of working out your problems; showing them to you from a different angle and making you feel like trash for not noticing the things you had missed. It was no accident the two had become such good friends.

"Alright. So dad's gonna come back one day. What about everyone else?"

Karkat exhaled, hesitating before he answered. "They're not coming back. I told them to leave."

"The mother fuck did you say?" Gamzee froze, refusing to believe his ears.

"I told them to leave. Remember, this was back when you were still flipping your shit and being a danger to basically everything, Gamzee."

"So you tell them to leave? We were, what… nineteen or twenty back then? They can make their own motherfuckin' decisions!"

"It was a group choice made final by me telling them to get the fuck out. Feferi and Eridan decided to stay back, but that's only because of Eridan's job. I told them not to contact you under any circumstances and rent a place in a suburb so they wouldn't run into you."

Gamzee ripped himself from Karkat's grip and glared angrily at him, feeling betrayed. "So you can't trust me? That what you're all trying to shove through my brain?"

"I don't trust you to not completely snap and try to hunt us all down again, Gamzee, of course not! It's a wonder I didn't move my own goddamn self, because I'm the one who was mentally tormented for _months _while we were trying to get your ass back together! Anyone else would have left. Hell, I WAS GOING TO LEAVE. I had everything packed and was going to walk out of my house and not even bother selling it. So why didn't I? Why in the sweet ever-loving HELL would I stay back to watch over someone who is, quite frankly, an insane psychopath?"

"Well mother fuck if I know!" Gamzee yelled. "Tell me why? Deliver your righteous knowledge right into my ears and say why you didn't dump ol' Gamzee by the wayside and go the hell away!"

"Because you're my best friend," Karkat said in a much softer voice. Gamzee was taken off guard.

"What?"

"I said because you're my best friend. I've been such a shitty friend for so long that I decided I'd make it up to you by helping you get clean. But you've got to _want_ this if it's going to work, Gamzee. I can't do jack shit if you don't do your part either."

Gamzee closed his eyes and leaned onto his back, letting his arms splay out to his sides. He didn't answer Karkat, opting to let the wind and the sounds of the surf calm him down. His friend huffed in exasperation, but Gamzee didn't care. His mind was far away, to when he and his eleven friends played the game that changed their lives forever.

That game. That damned game messed with his mind and turned him into someone else, someone who would willingly hurt anyone for the fun of it. Or maybe the game hadn't done anything, and Gamzee was that someone all along. Perhaps the drugs had given him a nicer identity to cling onto so he could pretend his crueler side was never a part of him. So he could pretend his false identity was his real self and his childhood was nothing more than a bad dream. It certainly explained why he needed his weed and his painkillers and his numerous medications: the Gamzee he and his friends had grown used to was a direct result of the drugs. He kept forgetting to take them once he played the game, and everyone had suffered the consequences. Part of him hated the drugs, hated how he needed them as much as he needed to breathe, but also hated the person he became when he was off the drugs. It was a continuous cycle of self-loathing, where no matter what he did, and all he could think about was how useless or how dangerous he really was.

Suddenly, Gamzee was possessed by a resolve he had never felt before. He was going to get help. And he needed his best friend there to help him. No more of his self-medication bullshit, he needed a professional.

"Hey, Karkat," Gamzee said, opening his eyes and fixing them on his friend's face.

"Yeah?"

"You said you could find me a counselor, did you all motherfuckin' mean that, bro?"

Karkat seemed taken aback. "Wait, so you're gonna do it? You're not gonna sit around like a useless piece of ass and actually get help for yourself?"

Gamzee hummed his approval. Karkat's face split into a genuine smile, hands reaching out and pulling the taller man up into a hug. Letting go, he said, "Alright, then let's do this. You start heading over to my place while I get some shit worked out."

He stood up and stretched; smile still plastered on his face. Gamzee couldn't help but think it made him look slightly goofy. Karkat pulled out his phone and waved Gamzee off.

"Get your ass out of here. This is private."

Shrugging, Gamzee headed off in the general direction of Karkat's house. As he neared the city's limits, he looked up into the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun. With his other hand he dug in his pocket, searching for his old bag of special stardust.

Upon finding it, he smirked, took a handful of it, and threw it up as high as he could, laughing as the sparkles fell onto his face.

"Now listen up everyone, I'm 'bout to deliver some news. This motherfucker here's about to clear some issues. His friend's got his back, no time for any lies. He's throwin' stardust so far it's gonna pass all the skies. He's gonna kick all his shit and get himself clean. And maybe see his friends, or so it'll fuckin' seem. They're gonna sit in a circle and fall the fuck over with laughter; End this story with a happy ever motherfuckin' after."

Gamzee rapped at the top of his lungs, not caring if it flowed or if anyone was around. For the first time in a while, he was high off happiness, not drugs. And it felt damn good.


	4. Like Walking Into a Dream

Chapter 4: Like Walking Into a Dream

"We're here, runt. What d'ya think?"

Gamzee's jaw dropped as he stepped out of the car and stared at the magnificent testament to modern architecture in front of him. The front of the condominium was all dark glass latticed by thin beams of steel, sharply contrasted by its bright white sides intersecting at crisp right angles. The walkway leading up to the front door was paved in white concrete with flecks of glassy rock inlaid in a twisting pattern. In the moonlight, the pathway appeared to be a silvery river with sparkles thrown over the top. The effect was mesmerizing, and Gamzee couldn't help but stare in awe. There was no way he was going to live in this paradise.

His father chuckled as he slammed the car door shut behind him. "I'm guessing you like it?"

"Hell fucking _yes_, man," Gamzee breathed. He took a few timid steps towards the front of the complex and paused, self-consciously wiping his hands off on his pants as if his childhood in the ghetto were a film of dirt he could remove with enough rubbing.

He turned his head back and grinned at his dad. "You sure I'm gonna be livin' here?"

"That's what I said, wasn't it? Now pick your jaw off the ground; can't be having my son lookin' like a goddamned imbecile."

"Uh, yeah, sure man." Gamzee sheepishly shrugged and turned around, waiting for his father to pass and following after. The two made their way through the entryway decorated in purples, golds, and blacks, to an elevator resembling something out of an old movie set in London. However, instead of rusted netting, this lift featured wrought iron roses intertwined around various objects such as a fork, an arrow, dice, and a harpoon. Gamzee found the design interesting, but could not fathom the significance of the random assortment of objects.

"Yo, dad," he asked as this father jabbed at the topmost button and began the elevator on its smooth ride upwards. His father grunted in response. "What's these things all about?" Gamzee gestured with his hand towards the elevator's netting.

"Those?" His mouth twisted in a knowing sort of smile. "Eh, don't worry about it. Don't see why any of that'll motherfuckin' apply to you any time soon."

He was unsatisfied, but let the question drop. The two rode quietly for a while, but eventually his dad began to hum a soft, hypnotic tune. The melody wafted into Gamzee's ears and caused the boy to feel a deep, crushing sense of nostalgia for no particular reason. He took a deep breath and waited for what he assumed was the chorus, joining in with his own lilting voice. After a while, he felt an arm drape around his shoulder and pull his skinny frame towards the wall of muscle next to him, solid and unfamiliar, but comforting all the same.

The elevator chimed soon afterwards, causing his dad to pull away to open the elevator. Father and son walked out onto a floor of plush purple carpet soft enough to give Gamzee the strong urge to lie down and take a nap upon it. The older turned a corner, telling Gamzee to "Stay the fuck put" while he unlocked the door to their room. Feeling it as good a time as any, he sat down and rubbed his face against the floor, marveling at how it was softer than all the blankets and pillows in his old house put together. He rolled onto his back and contented himself with making carpet angels, offhandedly wondering how silly it must look for a fourteen-year old to be rubbing himself on the ground.

"Pretty motherfuckin' hilarious," Gamzee mumbled, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly.

"What did you say—Gamzee. What the fuck are you doing."

His eyes snapped open and fixed upon the man staring dumbfounded at him. Gamzee sat up quickly, shaking off the head rush, and gave an apologetic smile.

"Sorry man, it's just this shit is so motherfuckin' soft, and—"

His father held up a hand and sighed in exasperation. "Don't explain; I don't want to hear it. Just get your ass up and check out your new place."

New place? Gamzee could not recall any other configuration of words that could make him move as quickly. Except maybe his mother's screeches of how hard she planned on beating his face in. A sadistic smile flitted across his features, hopefully too brief to his father to notice. The only thing he regretted from killing his mom was how fast it had all been. If he had more time, Gamzee would have definitely shown her how much it hurt to have things swung at their head, among other things. Ducking past his dad, he ran over to the open door and stopped dead.

The place was motherfucking miraculous.

The carpet from the hallway continued smoothly into the grand living room, where a white sectional curved against the wall in front of several floor-to-ceiling windows sporting dark curtains. The coffee table near the sofa held a few coffee mugs and the remnants of what Gamzee assumed was his father's lunch. Taking a few steps in and looking left, the boy almost fainted at the state of the kitchen. All state-of-the-art appliances, granite countertops, and bright white tiles upon the floor. The cabinets were a dark color, probably ebony wood, and lined the entire wall over the two stoves.

Wait a motherfucking second. There were _two_ stoves? Gamzee ran over to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. Sure enough, two stoves bearing four burners each stood side-by-side, one gas, the other electronic. His fingers ran longingly over the knobs and the surface, images of the things he could make on such a setup running through his head. As a picture of a lime-green pie drifted across his mind's eye, he stopped. Where was the oven? The boy looked around, confused as to why his dad had no oven in his miracle of a kitchen.

"Looking for something?" He heard the heavy footfalls signaling his father's presence.

"Yeah, I motherfuckin' am. Where's the oven?" Gamzee looked questioningly at the man behind him.

His mouth quirked into a smile. "Over there," he answered, pointing at an inconspicuous piece of wall to Gamzee's left.

Curious and somewhat skeptical, Gamzee walked over and poked at where his dad pointed. Nothing happened, as expected. Looking back, he saw his dad making a pulling motion while simultaneously gesturing at the knob above where he poked. Reaching up, he grabbed the knob and pulled, almost letting go and leaping back when a square-shaped bit of wall fell open and revealed the shining interior of the largest oven Gamzee had ever seen.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, sticking his head inside. "How the mother fuck did this bitch get in here?"

"Got it built for me. Fuck being conventional," his father answered, thoroughly amused.

"Got that right…" Gamzee wonderingly stared at the oven for a while longer, then shut it and looked at his dad. "Pretty sweet pad you've got here, man!"

"You've only looked at the kitchen, idiot. There's a whole lot more to see." With a massive hand, he pushed Gamzee out of the kitchen and into what he guessed was a formal dining room. An elaborate chandelier with multicolored crystals hung from the ceiling and would have illuminated the twelve-person dining table had it been turned on. Still steering his son, he made his way through the room, turned right, and walked down a hallway painted dark purple to the first room on the left.

"That's yours. Go check it out while I get some things in order." He nudged Gamzee towards the door and walked further down into another room, slamming the door shut. Gamzee wasted no time and opened the door eagerly, curious about what lie behind.

A low whistle escaped his lips as he regarded his new room. It was completely white, decorated simply with a large queen-sized bed in one corner, a desk standing perpendicular to it, and a dark wooden dresser and closet on the third wall. After checking to see if the coast was clear, Gamzee took a running leap into the plush blankets. Laughter bubbled up from inside him, half giddy, half relieved. He had his own bed. He had his own fucking _room_.

Gamzee rolled onto his side and laughed with more mirth than he had ever laughed with before. He laughed until he was clutching his sides in pain and tears rolled down his face. He laughed until he had a headache. He laughed until he had no idea what he was laughing about but couldn't find it in himself to care.

His father peeked in after a while to find out the source of the maniacal laughing he heard. To his surprise, his son was curled up into some sort of fetal position on his bed, chuckling like he'd been told the funniest joke in the universe. Smiling, he walked over and poked the kid in his ribs.

"The fuck's so funny, boy?"

Gamzee shook his head, unable to form words. His hand unwrapped from his midsection and flailed around wildly until his father grabbed it in his hand.

"I… ha ha ha… I'm so motherfu-fuckin'… ha ha… happy, dad…" His sentence faded off into more laughter, and his father couldn't help but chuckle along.

"Hey, kid, do me a favor?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Don't call me dad. Call me your 'old goat' or something."

Gamzee opened an eye and looked at his father with as much of a puzzled look as he could manage through his grin. "Why?"

He shrugged. "It's a nickname. More like a pet name, to be honest. Ain't had no one but family call me that."

His son nodded with understanding. "I got ya. Heh heh. That's a motherfuckin' funny thing to be called."

"Guess it is."

Gamzee seemed to gain some control over himself and sat up, though he left his hand remain around his waist. He saw the huge flat screen mounted on the wall across from him and widened his eyes.

"How fuckin' rich are you?"

"I get paid well. And I get gifts."

"Where do you work, then? 'Cause I'm totally goin' for your job when I'm older."

He grinned. "It's a secret. Anyways…" He brought his other hand out from behind his back, which Gamzee hadn't noticed until just then, and revealed a shiny, top-of-the-line laptop.

"Speaking of favors, this is one from my boss as a sort of congratulations, I guess."

Gamzee took it in amazed, shaking hands. "Congrats for what?"

"I don't fucking know, nor do I even care. Her handwriting's too damn loopy to decipher." He turned around and headed out. "I'll leave you alone for a bit. I want you in something presentable by 11:30."

11:30? "Wait, old goat, why so motherfuckin' late?" The nickname felt strange on his tongue. He supposed he would get used to it.

"'Cause I said so. Bathroom's across the hall. Go wash up or some shit before you put anything on."

"Uh, I've got nothing else to wear?"

"Check the dresser and your closet. Stuff should fit."

Before Gamzee could say anything else, his father had left. Seeing nothing else to do, he decided to try out his wicked new laptop. After twenty minutes of charging, setting up, and downloading, Gamzee sat on his bed with legs crossed and eyes staring at the newly installed chat client, a weird thing called Trollian, on his screen. The laptop's clock told him it was 10:13, earlier than he had expected, but too little time for what he wanted to say to his best friend.

Speaking of best friend, a brown circle popped to life on his screen. Gamzee gave an excited hum and clicked on it, opening the chat window and beginning a new conversation. Finger poised over the shift key, he began typing out his message.

**terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]**

TC: TaVbRo!

TC: TaVbRo, YoU'rE nOt GoNnA eVeN bElIeVe WhErE i'M aT rIgHt NoW!

TC: I'm So In ThE sHiT's NiNjA tItS rIgHt NoW. lIkE SeRiOuSlY, tHiS pLaCe Is BiTcHiN.

TC: It'S bItChIn So HaRd, I'm GoNnA hAvE tO mOtHeRfUcKiN tElL iT tO lEaVe, CaUsE tHeRe'S lItTlE cHiLdReN aLl GeTtIn ThEiR iNnOcEnT pLaY oN nEaRbY.

TC: BuT wE cAn GeT oUr MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL oN lAtEr, CaUsE sHe'S fUcKiN wIcKeD, mAn.

TC: !

TC: TaV?

TC: YoU tHeRe BrO?

AT: uH,,, YEAH, i AM,

AT: i WAS JUST, WAITING FOR THIS, TO LOAD

TC: ThAt'S aLl ChIlL mAn!

AT: oKAY,

AT: i'M REALLY, HAPPY ABOUT THIS, UH, i MEAN, i'M REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU,

AT: bUT IF YOU'LL, UH, NOT MIND MY IGNORANCE,

AT: wHAT ARE YOU CELEBRATING?

TC: AwW, mAn. OnLy ThE mOsT bItChTiTs WiCkEd ThInG eVeR!

TC: ChEcK iT oUt MaN.

TC: My MoM's DeAd. ShE kIcKeD tHe ShIt BuCkEt CaUsE sHe WaS a MoThErFuCkIn BiTcH aNd KiNdA aLl DeSeRvEd It.

TC: BuT tHeN, mY lOnG lOsT fAtHeR fIgUrE aLl MoThErFuCkIn CoMeS oUt Of NoWhErE lIkE sOmE mIrThFuL jOkEr JuSt LeFt HiM aT mY SoRrY aSs DoOrStEp.

TC: AnD tHeN hE's AlL lIkE, cOmE tO mY pLaCe, So I mOtHeRfUcKiN gO wItH hIm.

TC: AnD tAv, If HiS pLaCe AiN't ThE bEsT mOtHeRfUcKeR eVeR, eVeRyOnE eLsE wHo SaYs OtHeRwIsE iS fUcKiN lYiN aNd SpOuTiN hErEsIeS lIKe A mOtHeRfUcKiN fOuNtAiN.

TC: ToTaLlY sErIoUs RiGhT nOw!

AT: oH, MAN, tHAT SOUNDS REALLY, EXCITING,

AT: bUT i'VE GOT, A QUESTION, UH, iF YOU DON'T MIND,

TC: ShOoT, mY wIcKeD bRoThEr!

AT: wILL WE STILL GO TO THE SAME SCHOOL?

AT: oR DO YOU, HAVE TO CHANGE?

AT: bECAUSE YOU'RE IN A DIFFERENT PLACE, AND i DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS, SO i'M JUST WONDERING,

That gave Gamzee pause. Would he?

TC: I cAn'T sAy FoR sUrE. wE'rE pReTtY fAr AwAy FrOm ScHoOl ThOuGh.

AT: }:(

TC: Do:

TC: WhAt Am I gOnNa Do, BrO?

AT: i DON'T REALLY,,, UH,,, KNOW,,,

AT: bUT, IF YOU TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE, THEN i COULD PROBABLY TELL YOU, WHERE YOU'RE GOING TO, UH, GO,

TC: I'm ChIlLiN sOmEwHeRe ReAlLy ClOsE tO tHe CiTy, I tHiNk.

TC: EvEn ThOuGh I'm NoT rEaLlY cHiLlIn AnYmOrE, tHoUgH. :o(

TC: HoNk.

AT: oH, WELL, tHERE'S SOME, GOOD NEWS COMING OUT OF THIS, i GUESS,

AT: i KNOW QUITE A FEW PEOPLE, WHO LIVE NEAR THE CITY,

AT: yOU'RE PROBABLY GOING, TO THE SAME SCHOOL AS THEM,

AT: mAYBE,,,

TC: BuT…

TC: I wOn'T eVeR sEe YoU aGaIn!

AT: wE COULD STILL, UH, HANG OUT, gAMZEE,

AT: oR MAYBE, YOUR DAD WILL LET YOU FINISH SCHOOL, HERE,

AT: aND BY HERE, i MEAN YOUR OLD SCHOOL,

AT: oR MAYBE STILL YOUR, UH,,, CURRENT SCHOOL?

AT: uH,,,

TC: DoN't WoRrY, mAn.

TC: I aLl GoT yOu MoThErFuCkIn CrYsTaL cLeAr.

TC: I cOuLd AsK, bUt I dOn'T bE tHiNkIn ThE oLd GoAt WaNtS tO dRiVe Me ThErE.

TC: BuT mAyBe He DoEsN't WaNt To SiGn A bUnCh Of ApPlIcAtIoN sHiT, eIthEr?

TC: WhO kNoWsSsSs.

AT: yEAH,

AT: bUT THE GOOD THING, IS THAT TOMORROW IS sATURDAY,

AT: sO WE COULD PROBABLY, HANG OUT?

TC: YeAh, SoUnDs GoOd, Man.

AT: oKAY,

AT: hEY, gAMZEE?

TC: YeAh MaN?

AT: wHAT'S YOUR DAD LIKE?

Gamzee grinned as he typed his response. His pinky was beginning to get a little sore, but it was nothing he wasn't used to.

TC: DoGg, He'S a ToTaL bAdAsS.

TC: He'S aWeSoMe, AnD cRaZy RiCh, ToO!

TC: AnD hE lOoKs LiKe An OlDeR vErSiOn Of Me, WhIcH iS kInDa WeIrD, bUt It'S aLl MoThErFuCkIn ChIlL cAuSe He'S a BoSs.

AT: oH, THAT'S GOOD,

AT: hOPEFULLY THINGS WORK OUT BETTER, WITH HIM,

AT: bETTER, UH, THAN HOW THINGS WERE, WITH, UH,,, YOU KNOW,,,

TC: My MoM?

TC: It'S cOoL, mAn.

TC: I dOn'T rEgReT aNyThInG!

TC: CaUsE iF i DiD, tHeN sHe WoUlD hAvE wOn.

TC: AnD tHaT wOuLdN't Be As FuNnY. :oC

AT: uH,,,,,,,,

Gamzee looked at the clock again. 11:15? When did it become so late?

TC: ShIt!

AT: wHAT IS IT?

TC: I'vE gOtTa RoLl OuT, tAvBrO.

TC: ThIs ClOwN's GoTtA dO wHaT hE nEeDs To Or ElSe He'Ll FaCe ThE wRaTh Of…

TC: MoThErFuCk, I'vE gOtTa CoMe Up WiTh A cOoL nAmE fOr ThE oLd GoAt.

AT: ,,,,,,,

TC: AnYwAyS,

TC: LaTeR, bRo!

AT: uH, BYE, gAMZEE,

TC: :o)

AT: }:o)

TC: HaHaHa, I lOvE iT wHeN yOu TaKe My NoSe, BrO ;oP

**terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling adiosToreador [AT]**

AT: ,,,

AT: aND i LOVE IT,

AT: wHEN YOU, UH,

AT: sAY YOU LOVE SOMETHING, ABOUT ME,

AT: fUCK, tHAT SOUNDED, REALLY, UH, CHEESY,

AT: sORRY,

AT: i'M JUST GONNA, GO NOW,,,

**adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]**

* * *

**A/N: GAMZEE. _HOW DO YOU FUNCTION WITH THAT QUIRK OF YOURS_?**

**On the other hand, Gamzee/Tavros scenes are so much fun to write~ Implied PBJ? Who knows. Also, sorry for my long absence! Just a whole lotta school to put behind me, but it's almost over, so I'll have a whole lot more time to write! Yayyyyyy~**


	5. Voices with Nothing to Say

Chapter 5: Voices with Nothing to Say

Gamzee sat on Karkat's couch, an old and sagging thing he kept meticulously clean along with the rest of his house. Anxiously twiddling his thumbs, he wondered for the eighteenth time what was taking his friend so long. Maybe he decided he was a lost cause and ditched him. Gamzee frowned, despite knowing of Karkat's almost obsessive loyalty. What if he had? He'd probably be hanging out at a bar with his girlfriend, drinking beer while she held her cranberry juice in her bony hands and cackling madly. Probably laughing about him, how he was such a loser he actually believed Karkat was going to help him.

Placing his head in between his knees, he grabbed onto his curls and yanked furiously, relishing the pain. _Stupid, stupid Gamzee_, she'd say. _That clown would believe anything you say. He's like a puppy. Hehehee! A little Gamzee puppy!_ She'd giggle over the mental picture and knock her drink back as if it actually contained alcohol. Karkat would laugh too, then lean over and give her a peck on the cheek, too shy for a real kiss in public. Gamzee growled, bitterness rising unbidden from the dark hole his drugs usually kept it in. Next time he saw Karkat, he'd teach him not to leave his "best friend" hanging…

The doorknob jingled, shaking Gamzee from his angry thoughts and making him look up. He straightened up and untangled his hands from his hair just as the door opened, revealing Karkat and…

"Gamzee! Karkles told me of your new resolve to kick your old smelly habits and become a much better person! Hehehe, I can't wait to see this!"

Karkat's girlfriend pushed Karkat to the side and ran up to Gamzee, giving his face a lengthy sniff, light glinting off her pointy red glasses and her black lipstick. She grinned her trademark grin, all teeth and razor edges.

"Someone smells like pancakes. Karkat, why didn't you bring me anything?"

"Because I didn't and because it was mostly for Gamzee, Terezi. Don't be selfish."

"Objection! The prosecution would like to argue that anything involving sweets the defense does should be run by his associates, namely, his _girlfriend_, prior to the event!"

Terezi straightened up, left hand on her hip and right hand pointing at Karkat, or rather, at Karkat's general direction. He snickered and waved his arm at her.

"Hey, blind girl, I'm over here!"

Her nose wrinkled and she crossed her arms, frowning. "Don't make fun of my disability, Karkles. It's a sensitive subject."

"Don't even play that. It's not even that much of a disability."

Terezi grinned and tossed her short, strawberry blonde hair. "Oh you, you're so nice to lil' ol' me. I'm going to take that as a compliment, if you don't mind~"

"Not like I really care," Karkat said as he tried to pass by Terezi. Giggling, she hooked her arms around his neck and tugged him down onto the couch, causing Gamzee to scoot quickly out of the way while the two wrestled for a bit. He involuntarily yelped as one of them nearly kicked his head, and Terezi looked up just as Karkat managed to knock her glasses off.

No matter how many times he saw them, the sight of her eyes without the protective opacity of her glasses still took him off guard. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, and her irises carried the blank look particular to only the blind. Reddish-purple shadows stained her lower lids and blue veins spider webbed across the rest. Gamzee wondered how Karkat stood looking at Terezi without her glasses. He probably didn't.

She groped around on the couch and found them, sliding them onto her face and sighing audibly as the glasses settled on her nose.

"Karkat, don't do that!" She shoved him accusingly and moved closer to Gamzee, hugging him. "Gamzee, protect me from Karkat's malicious hands!"

Gamzee held Terezi close and put on a mock-disappointed face. Waggling a finger, he said, "Bro, it ain't cool to make a lady all motherfuckin' indecent like that, you know."

"Oh shut up and give me my girlfriend." Karkat scooped Terezi towards him and pulled her close, his girlfriend giggling madly as he dug his fingers into her sensitive sides. Gamzee watched them play around for a while, and then sighed loudly in impatience. Karkat paused in his tickling while Terezi continued to pull at his spiky hair.

"So…" Gamzee leaned back and threw his arms across the back of the couch. "What the mother fuck did you bring me here for?"

"Well, for a several reasons, really." He pushed Terezi off, but she leaned against his side instead, smirking. Sighing, he continued: "One, because you never come over anymore and I felt we could hang out or something. Two, because I have no drugs here and the last thing you need is the temptation. Three…"

At that moment, someone coughed lightly behind them. Karkat and Terezi's heads swung as one towards the source of the noise, Terezi grinning widely and Karkat grunting appreciatively.

"You're right on time," he said. "But really, I didn't expect anything else, Ms. Pyrope."

Gamzee turned his head and examined the woman in question. She had the same skinny build as her daughter; only her hair was cut shorter and styled in a more carefree manner. Her face, however, did not carry the same breeziness, for she looked like the stern history teacher no one liked but who got business done no matter what.

Terezi's mom patted her already crisp, black suit into even sharper creases. "Of course I am. Terezi, dear, we are in the presence of a guest. Behave yourself." A blue-green eye flicked upwards to meet with bright red spectacles, whose wearer smoothly untangled herself from Karkat and sat straight upwards, hands clasped in her lap and a smile on her face.

"Mom?" Terezi's voice had changed into a sharp, businesslike tone. "I would like to inquire as to why I am not allowed to show affection to my significant other?"

Ms. Pyrope tilted her nose upwards and folded her arms. "Due to the fact such behavior is not appropriate."

"If you would, please tell me what behavior would be appropriate."

"Poise, modesty, and professionalism. All the things I have taught you throughout your childhood, dear."

"I am handling Karkat's tickling with as much poise as I could under the circumstances, I am remaining modest by abstaining from any significant makeouts that may have ensued otherwise, and I am demonstrating professionalism by providing well-worded examples of how I am in the right while you are severely misunderstanding my actions and intentions, _mother_."

A smile from the other side. "All valid, but my point remains. This is a serious meeting and such foolishness will not be tolerated."

Terezi's grin grew wider. "Objection!"

"On what grounds?"

"On behalf of judicial bias. I request a new judge and a new case."

"Overruled. This is a dictatorship and I am the dictator."

"Then I refuse to cooperate!"

"Then I sentence you to a day of shut up and do as I say before I treat you as if you are a child."

Terezi laughed and climbed over the sofa, flashing the boys her bright red shorts and similarly colored shoes. After a graceful roll to a standing position, she flung her arms around her mother and inhaled deeply.

"You smell like cherries, but you look like licorice."

"Because of my perfume and my suit, love." Ms. Pyrope patted her daughter's head approvingly, yet professionally. Everything about her was professional, even when she was joking around with her daughter. Gamzee couldn't help but be impressed.

At the same time, he was confused. Why was Terezi's mom here? She worked as a lawyer at a prestigious law firm; shouldn't she be at work at this hour? As if reading his mind, Karkat spoke up.

"Alright, so now that the mother-daughter shenanigans are over with, can we please get down to fucking business now?"

"Your language, Mr. Vantas."

"Sorry. Anyways, Gamzee here has a serious problem, and we are going to deal with it right here, right now, in the best way I can think of. Any questions?"

Gamzee raised his hand. "Yeah, I think I all have one."

Karkat sighed. "Yes, Gamzee?"

"Why's Terezi's mom here?"

Ms. Pyrope removed Terezi to her side and dusted her suit off. "While in law school, I was required to take psychology classes in order to pursue my advanced degree. I grew interested in the subject, and once I graduated and found myself a firm to work at, I began delving deeper into the field. When Karkat contacted me about helping you with your addiction, I decided it would be good practice."

Familiar anger boiled black in his veins. "So that's all I am? A practice dummy?"

Her teal eyes pierced into Gamzee's. "No. You are my daughter and her boyfriend's friend. It is truly the least I could do."

"Mom's the best psychologist available that does her thing for free. We would never send anyone your way without them being the best, promise! Right, Karkat?"

Karkat gave a nod. "Yeah, seriously. We're trying our best, okay? Can you give us some credit here?"

"You could've motherfuckin' asked me for shit…" A sharp hiss from Terezi's mom made Gamzee wince. "Whoops, sorry. Meant you could've all asked me for some funds, bro. I wouldn't have minded."

"Yeah, not happening. It's a pride thing."

"Hey, hey guys!" Terezi waved her hand, grinning. "If you don't mind, I think it's about time we stopped talking and get this thing on the road!"

"I agree," said Ms. Pyrope. "We've wasted precious time. Gamzee, if you would follow me. Terezi and Karkat, please stay here and restrain yourselves."

Terezi giggled and went around the couch to wind her arms around Karkat's neck. "Play nice, momsy!" she called with a grin on her face. Ms. Pyrope gave a smile back and motioned for Gamzee to follow her into a nearby room. He stood up, gave Karkat a questioning look to which he replied by waving him off, and walked reluctantly after Ms. Pyrope's retreating back.

* * *

**A/N: The chapter's named this because it's pretty much filler and not much plot advancement and I'm so sorry guys. Hopefully Terezi and Momglare made up for it.**


	6. Nothing Hurts My World

Chapter 6: Nothing Hurts My World

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

TC: BrOoOoOoOoOoOo… :oC

TC: I'm GoNnA hAvE tO cHaNgE sChOoLs.

TC: TuRnS oUt ThE oLd GoAt FiLlEd OuT aLl ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN pApErWoRk WhEn I wAsN't AlL lOoKiN. Do:

AT: oH, i'M REALLY, SORRY }:(

AT: wELL, i GUESS i COULD, UH,,, tELL MY FRIENDS OVER, THERE TO SHOW YOU AROUND, i GUESS,

TC: BuT bRo.

TC: HoW dO yOu AlL kNoW wHeRe I'm At?

AT: wELL,,,

AT: iT'S BECAUSE, i, UH,

AT: aSKED AROUND, AND LOOKED YOUR DAD UP,,,

AT: tURNS OUT, MY MOM AND DAD, KNOW YOUR DAD,

AT: sO IT WASN'T THAT HARD,

TC: WhOa.

TC: TaV.

TC: ThAt'S mOtHeRfUcKiN aWeSoMe Of YoU tO aLl FiGuRe OuT tHaT sHiT!

TC: YoU'rE sO fUcKiN tIgHt, MaN. hOw CaN yOu EvEn StAnD iT?

AT: wELL, YOU KNOW,

AT: i'VE GOT, ENOUGH SWAGGER, FOR THE BOTH OF US,

AT: aND IT IS WITH THAT SWAGGER, THAT i GOT THE IDEA,

AT: oR RATHER, MY SWAGGER, AND THE IMMENSE AMOUNT THAT i HAVE, MADE ME CONFIDENT ENOUGH, TO ASK,

AT: aND FIND OUT,

TC: HaHaHa, DaMn MoThErFuCkIn StRaIgHt!

TC: YoU'vE gOt ThE mOsT mOtHeRfUcKiN sWaG oUt Of AnY mOtHeRfUcKeR i KnOw!

TC: HoNkHoNkHoNk! :oD

AT: hAHA, WELL, i'VE GOT TO SAY,

AT: i'M GOING TO MISS YOU, ON mONDAY, WHEN YOU TRANSFER,

TC: SaMe. :o(

AT: bUT, YOU'LL BE FINE,

AT: bECAUSE YOU'RE NOT THE SAME PERSON, i MET WHEN i WAS IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL,

TC: YeAh, I wAs SuCh A cRaZy MoThErFuCkEr BaCk ThEn.

TC: KiNdA sTiLl Am. :o) HoNk.

AT: bUT, YOU WOULDN'T BE gAMZEE IF YOU, WEREN'T,

AT: sO, IT'S FINE,

AT: aNYWAYS, i HAVE TO GO,

AT: eNGLISH PROJECT, AND MATH, AND STUFF,

TC: AwW, fUcK.

TC: I wAs SuPpOsEd To MoThErFuCkIn HeLp YoU wItH tHaT bItCh.

AT: iT'S FINE, IT'S ALMOST DONE,

TC: YoU kEeP sAyInG iT's FiNe.

TC: DoN't ThInK i CaN aLl GeT tO bElIvInG yOu.

AT: bUT, IT IS,

TC: :o(

AT: uHHH, SO,,,

AT: bYE, gAMZEE, }:)

TC: ByE, bEsT mOtHeRfUcKiN fRiEnD.

adiosToreador [AT] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

Gamzee locked the screen of the cellphone his dad lent him and stared out the window. The bright city lights whisked by his window, his father deliberately breaking the speed limit and somehow getting away with it. He had been rather evasive about where they were going, saying only he was going to meet with some friends. Gamzee still didn't understand where he fit into this equation, but he didn't want to keep asking and anger his father.

He adjusted his collar once more. His first appearance in front of the old goat had resulted in a wallop over the head and strong hands tugging his tie here, straightening his jacket there, and buttoning his shirt up to the point where it was a struggle to breathe, ignoring any and all complaints. Finally, the boy was tugged out of the complex by his hair and practically thrown into the front seat of the Ferrari, his father only smirking at his yelps of pain.

Another pull at his collar. They were far into downtown, judging by the density of the people on the sidewalk and the amount of traffic on the streets. Gamzee squinted at a particular knot of individuals in front of a convention center.

"Yo, old goat. What the mother fuck is goin' on over there?"

His father navigated to a nearby parking garage and smoothly parked in the first available space. "You'll find out."

Growling with annoyance, Gamzee unbuckled himself and stomped out of the car. "I hope it's a motherfuckin' carnival in there. All this fuckin' secrecy's gettin' to be kinda… irritatin'."

He looked back and saw his father's grin. "You'll see."

The two walked out of the garage to the center, pushing their way past the throng of people and through the front doors. Even more people stood inside, casual onlookers all the way to what looked like professional photographers.

"This enough of a carnival for you, boy?" Gamzee could only stare in awe.

"What's the occasion, man? Why're all these motherfuckers here for?"

"Garrett?" A silky smooth voice floated through the people and caused both of them to freeze.

"Uh…" Gamzee started, but a nudge from his dad silenced him.

"We're both here," he called out. When there was no response, he took a deep breath and bellowed, "WE'RE BOTH HERE."

The crowd cowered under his roar and grew silent, save for a few murmurs. In the center stood what could possibly be called the most beautiful woman Gamzee had ever seen. Her skin was a flawless caramel color and hair hung past her hips, curling and waving in an undulating pattern resembling an ocean wave. On her nose perched fuchsia glasses that matched her lipstick perfectly, and a black gown clung tightly to her every curve, accented by pink jewels and pink stilettos. What seemed to be a thousand gold bracelets adorned her wrists and wound their way up her arms to end at her shoulder, while several rings set with fuchsia gems encircled her fingers. Her entire appearance screamed money, beauty, and charisma; no wonder so many were crowded around her.

Gamzee's father walked over to her and placed a hand around her waist. "You do know how to silence a crowd," she said, "but please, would it be too much to ask for a little more… couth?" Her voice reminded Gamzee of water and bells, trickling into his ears and chiming throughout his mind.

"Fuck that," he said, grinning at her. She laughed a silvery laugh and gestured at the boy standing in front of the two.

"Is this your son? Oh, silly me, of course it is. You two look exactly the same."

"Yeah, that's mine. Boy, get over here." Gamzee made his way over, head bowed and hands clutched behind his back. His father looped an arm around his shoulder and shook him slightly. "Son, this lovely woman's name is Meenah Peixes. She's the owner of a multi-million weapons corporation that specializes in advanced, top-secret technology. She also is a rather famous model," he added, smirking slightly as the two shared a look. "And Meenah, this kid's called Gamzee."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Peixes," Gamzee said, still shocked at her appearance.

"Please, just call me Meenah. No need for any formality; any kid of Garrett's is a friend of mine, as far as I'm concerned." She offered a hand and smiled sweetly.

"Uh, sure… Meenah," he said, taking her hand in his own and shaking it.

"Gamzee is a strange thing to be called, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it kinda is. My real name's Garrett James Makara, but my mom shortened it to Gamzee when I was real little."

"Oh, I've heard about your mother. I'm so sorry you had to live with her."

He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "It's alright. I didn't like her much, really."

"Neither did anyone else, I can assure you."

She seemed to remember something and looked around. "Feferi?" she called. "Come out here, love. I'd like you to meet someone."

A girl seemed to materialize from the throng of people around Meenah and moved to stand next to her. Like Gamzee and his father, the two looked similar, yet the girl possessed an overall softer appearance and a rounder face. She wore a simple blue dress with green accents, pink flats, and gold bangles around her ankles.

She tilted her head to the side and grinned at him. "Hi! I'm Feferi, and I'm really excited to meet you!" Her voice was much chirpier than Meenah's and she had a strange way of lengthening her e's.

"Hey, thanks," Gamzee replied, grinning back. "I'm…"

"Gamzee. Yup, I know! Oh my gosh, I can already tell we're gonna be such great friends!"

She turned to her mom. "Can I introduce him to Eridan? Please please pretty please?"

Meenah sighed a delicate sigh, but a smile was on her face. "Sure, and tell his father to hurry up and go to our meeting place. Now that Garrett's here, we can begin our discussion."

"Sure thing! Come on, this way!"

She took hold of Gamzee's hand and pulled him towards a hallway he hadn't seen when he first entered the convention center. The two walked down the corridor for a minute, then Feferi turned and pushed him into a small room decorated with simple furniture and a fish tank.

A boy stood near the tank shaking food into the water, watching as the fish swarmed towards it and ate. Feferi and Gamzee stood at the door for a moment before she took off a shoe and hurled it at the other boy's head. It hit with a _thump_ and he looked back angrily, mouth set into a scowl.

"W-what the hell w-was that for?" He had what seemed to be a strong British accent with a strange stutter on his w's.

"Look, Eridan! Mr. Byron has a kid and his name's Gamzee!"

"Fef, you gotta be kiddin' me here. W-what kinda parent names his fuckin' kid _Gamzee. _For the love a god, can w-we be real here?" His v's sounded weird as well, almost as if he was pronouncing them as w's.

"My name ain't actually Gamzee," he said. "It's Garrett. Same as the old goat. Just my middle name's different."

"Then why the hell aren't you called Garrett?" The one named Eridan turned around with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore an impressive black suit with a violet tie and a matching handkerchief. His fingers sported more rings than Meenah's did, only with less jewels and more gold aside from a ring with the Aquarius symbol carved into it. He had an olive cast to his skin and his hazel eyes hid behind horn-rimmed glasses, currently squinted suspiciously at the wild-haired boy in front of him.

"'Cause my middle name's James and if you get really motherfuckin' smashed then Garrett and James can get all married and make a Gamzee."

Eridan arched an eyebrow. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever had the misfortune a hearin'."

Gamzee shrugged. "Do whatcha like, bro. I don't really all care that much."

"Fef, how-w can this low-wlife be the son a fuckin' _Garrett Harry Byron._ How is that even possible?"

"Eridan," Feferi sighed. "Don't be mean. You can see how alike they look."

"Okay, yeah. So they look the same. Big fuckin' whoop. But he's a goddamn street rat w-while his 'father'," he made air quotes with his fingers, "is an imposin' tank that could smash this guy w-without even realizin' it. Is this really the guy's long-lost fuckin' kid?"

"I'm shore of it!" Feferi clenched her fists in front of her chest and hopped a little, grinning as she said the pun. "You should see them standing next to each other. It's reely scary how alike they look!"

"Fef, calm your coddamn self." Eridan's face visibly fought back the smile threatening to creep up as he worked in a pun. "I'm only gonna believe it when I see it, an' right now-w, I'm not seein' it."

"Oh, you whale. I can ashore you."

"Hey," Gamzee interjected. "What's with all the motherfuckin' puns goin' around?"

Feferi's eyes widened and she slapped her hands against her cheeks as she turned to face Gamzee. "Oh, I'm so sorry! It's a thing we do. Because we both like fish so much and because fish puns are so much fun to say!"

"Oh, well that's cool, I guess."

Eridan snorted. "You're damn right it's cool. It's the coolest thing since the fuckin' North Pole."

"Well," Feferi said, "it's not really that cool. It's just really funny. Anyways…" She turned back to Eridan. "Mom wants you to go get your dad so the three of them can talk."

"He headed out a little bit before you two came in," Eridan said, uncrossing his arms and straightening his tie. "W-we can still go look for him if you w-want."

"That's fine with me. I don't want to get yelled at." Feferi made a face. "Hey, Gamzee! You wanna come with us?"

"Sounds motherfuckin' bitchtits, sis," he said, still unsure of how to act around the two but not wanting to be left behind. They looked confused for a second before Eridan let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh my god, he even _sounds_ like a sew-wer rat. Garrett must be so embarrassed a you."

"Can't be much more embarrassed as your pops must be of you," Gamzee retorted, angry at the boy's continued insults. "Prancin' around like a motherfuckin' prince even though you've got nothin' princely hangin' around you."

"Oh please, I'm practically royalty. If Fef's mom's the empress, my dad's her commander-in-chief an' your dad's just the head a security. My family _runs this shit._ Peasants like you need to sit the fuck down an' learn their place."

"So your dad's the weak as mother fuck commander who hides behind his men and shouts orders from a safe fuckin' place and my dad's the kickass head of security that could probably kick your dad's ass? Sounds motherfuckin' awesome to me."

The other chewed his lip furiously, opening his mouth once he thought of a suitable retort right as Feferi clapped her hands and loudly shouted, "ENOUGH."

They stared at her as she flipped her hair in annoyance. "You two are just like children. Eridan, start walking in the direction your dad went so we can follow behind."

He huffed angrily and stomped off down the hallway. Feferi and Gamzee walked close behind, though far enough away for the girl to apologize quietly and Eridan wouldn't hear.

"I'm so sorry, he can be such a piece of work sometimes. But he's nice when you're on his good side, I promise!"

"For some reason, sis, I'm not all convinced a lot of people are on his good side."

She sighed. "You're right, not many are. Only his dad and I are, last time I checked. Every time I try to introduce him to someone else he puts on this front that ends up turning every conversation into what just happened with you two."

"He's motherfuckin' insufferable, if you ask me."

"I fuckin' heard that!" Eridan called from the front.

"Awesome, 'cause that bitch was served to you all nice and motherfuckin' ready for you to get your hearing on of."

"I didn't understand a w-word a that and I don't really w-want to know-w. Just shut your traps an' let me lead, goddamn it."

Gamzee flipped both of his middle fingers at Eridan's back, at which Feferi giggled and slapped his hands down.

"Oh stop. But really, judging from the fact he's still bothering to talk to you, you two are getting along swimmingly." Gamzee only scoffed.

The three teens made their way down hallway after hallway, sometimes doubling back and retracing their steps. Gamzee asked a few times whether Eridan knew where he was going, to which the other either told him to "shut the fuck up" or to "keep followin' him". Eventually, they found a door that was slightly ajar, from which a familiar tinkling voice could be heard.

"This is it," Eridan whispered.

They crowded around the crack and peered inside. Gamzee's father and Meenah reclined in chairs opposite each other while another man leaned against a bar standing near where Meenah was. From his appearance, he could only be Eridan's dad.

"So, about those troublesome low-class trash." Meenah said, folding her hands on her lap. "What ever are we going to do about them?"

"I say take 'em all out," Gamzee's dad said. "Don't even nip it at the bud. Just destroy their whole organization so we don't have to worry about anything."

"W-we'd still have to w-worry about lone w-wolves." Eridan's father had the same accent his son had, only stronger and with a more Scottish flavor to it. "And plus the damages. How-w could w-we cover somethin' like that up?"

"If done carefully, we won't have to worry about that," he answered, right hand propping up his head.

"As much as I would like the whole issue to disappear, I don't want there to be a chance of anything being traced back to any of us." Meenah tapped her lip thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could buy them out? We could make it seem innocent enough."

"There's still the people in the thing to worry about."

"It's a much better option than a massacre."

"All of the other times you've called me to do something similar, and you're worrying about it now?"

"I fear we're becoming too predictable. Everyone seems to expect such a reaction nowadays."

"So you're saying we do something more covert to intimidate them? Seems pretty backwards to me."

"I think w-what she's tryin' to say is that if w-we do somethin' different, people w-won't know-w w-what to expect and w-will think tw-wice next time."

"They should've thought twice the first time. Usually the thought of a guaranteed slaughter deters the bravest of men."

"W-well, w-we are dealin' w-with idiots here."

The teens watched in shock as their parents went on to discuss possible weaknesses of their rivals and the best way to attack. Gamzee eventually stood up and backed away, the other two's eyes following him with a sad look in their eyes. He shook his head as his father laughed about torturing the leader to death, then ran away the way they all came, somehow remembering the route. Feferi and Eridan later found him sitting in one of the chairs in the room where the three first met, staring blankly at a wall.

"Hey, Gam, sorry you had to see that…" Eridan started.

"Yeah, we're so sorry! I mean, we knew what our parents did, but…"

"You didn't, so it w-wasn't cool a us to bring you into that…"

"Are you okay, though? Do you need anything?"

Gamzee didn't answer. He continued to stare at the wall.

Eridan sighed. "W-well, w-we left right w-when they w-were about to leave, so Garrett's headed this w-way right now-w."

A weak thumbs up was the only answer. The other two exchanged a look and sat down near him, Feferi patting his knee and Eridan leaning against the chair's arm. They stayed like that until Gamzee's father knocked on the doorframe, whereupon they scrambled up in front of Gamzee and smiled.

"The hell's goin' on in here?" he asked, an eyebrow arched as he regarded the two nervous kids in front of him.

Feferi put on a confused face, then burst out laughing. "I'm sorry! I thought you were my mom at first! That's what we get for not looking!"

Eridan laughed along nervously, glancing back at the boy sitting behind him. "Yup. Sorry sir, hope you don't take any offense to that."

"None taken. Where's Gamzee?"

"Right motherfuckin' here, man." A hand waved from behind the other two as he stood up. Pushing past them, he walked right up to his dad with a hand in his pocket. "We goin'?"

"Yeah. It's too damn late to stay. Made some new friends, I see?"

Gamzee glanced back and grinned. His eyes looked sad. "Yup. They're pretty motherfuckin' tight."

"Good, because they're going to the same school you are."

Feferi and Eridan's mouths dropped open. "Really?" Feferi said.

"Yeah. You wanna get their chat names or whatever? I noticed you were on that thing for practically the whole ride here."

"Sure." Gamzee pulled out his phone. "Lay 'em on me."

"CuttlefishCuller," Feferi said.

"CaligulasAquarium," Eridan added.

"All right, cool. I'm terminallyCapricious, in case I all forget to motherfuckin' hit y'all up first. So, see you guys on… Monday, I think? I mean, I'll motherfuckin' message you before that, but you know—"

"Yeah, we'll see you!" Feferi waved. "Bye bye, Gamzee!"

"Bye Feferi, bye Eridan," he said back. Eridan waved in response.

As the two headed back to the car, his phone chimed. Unlocking it, he saw that Feferi had messaged him.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CC: Are you okay? You seemed reely upset back t)(ere!

CC: 38(

TC: YeAh, I'm FiNe.

TC: AlL tHaT hUrT i WaS fEeLiN? iT wEnT tHe FuCk AwAy OnCe I sToPpEd ThInKiN aBoUt It ToO mUcH.

TC: CaUsE wE hAd To HaVe MoThErFuCkIn HeArD tHeM wRoNg Or SoMeThIn, RiGhT?

CC: O)(, Gamzee, t)(at's not )(ow t)(ings are.

CC: W)(at you )(eard back t)(ere? T)(ey meant exactly w)(at t)(ey said.  
CC: Your dad's pretty rut)(less, you know!

CC: )(e's reely R-E-ELY imfamous!

TC: I cAn'T.

TC: GeT tO bE bElIeViN tHaT.

TC: I'm FiNe SiS. i'Ll MoThErFuCkIn DeAl WiTh ThIs MoThErFuCkEr On My OwN.

CC: But…

TC: WiThOuT aNyOnE eLsE iNtErFeRiN, yA dIg?

CC: …

CC: 38(

CC: Well, if you don't want me to be in your business anymore, t)(en you )(ave to promise me t)(is!

TC: OkAy.

CC: Never, -EV-ER, scare us like t)(at again! We t)(oug)(t you were comatose or somefin!

TC: :oO

TC: Uh, I cAn MoThErFuCkIn GeT mY aGrEeMeNt On WiTh ThAt.

TC: NoT a PrObLeM.

CC: Good! 38)

CC: See you soon, Gamzee! I promise you, sc)(ool will be so much fun! I'm all –-EXCIT-ED just t)(inking about it!

TC: MaKeS oNe Of Us, HaHa.

CC: Ps)()()(. You'll be fin.

CC: Good nig)(t, Gamzee! 38D

TC: SeE yA sIs! :oD

cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

Gamzee stared at the screen. He wished he could put such a happy face on these typed of things like she could. Locking it once more, he resigned himself to staring out the window.


	7. And Everyone's Looking For Relief

Chapter 7: And Everyone's Looking For Relief

The two sat in silence, Ms. Pyrope sitting on a chair with a notebook in front of her, Gamzee splayed out on an opposite chair with his head lolling backwards and hands crossed over his stomach. They had been that way for almost half an hour, neither speaking, neither making any movements other than to adjust their positions. Terezi and Karkat announced their intentions to go shopping ten minutes ago and had left, the frozen atmosphere from the room getting to them.

"Are you ready to begin yet?" Her delicate whisper cut across the silence and startled Gamzee.

"Nah, I'm fine layin' here. Just a motherfuckin' useless bump on the asshole face of the world. Just chillin'."

A sigh. "I would tell you to correct yourself, but I understand this is a sensitive time for you and I'll let it slide."

"Good."

More silence.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

"What the mother fuck am I supposed to even be sayin'?"

"Anything you want. I'm all ears."

"Yeah, okay." He lifted his head and stared into Ms. Pyrope's eyes. They were a really pretty shade, directly in between green and blue and shimmering slightly in the small window next to them.

_Take them._ What the hell? Oh, right. He smacked his forehead against the palm of his hand. He had forgotten his medicine at home. Glancing back up, he was possessed by the overwhelming urge to gouge her eyes out and clenched his hands on the arms of the chair. The desire was both familiar and horrifying, and Gamzee almost walked out of the room to prevent himself from doing anything dangerous. From the back of his mind rose an exercise an anger management therapist taught him where he had to imagine himself floating through a landscape until he calmed down. Seeing no other positive alternative, he closed his eyes, imagined he was a leaf in the breeze, and lost himself in the mountains he constructed in his mind's eye. The exercise went better than expected and his urges slowly drained out of him. Coming back to reality, he was faced with Terezi's mom staring at him as if he were an extremely interesting test subject. Gamzee checked the clock on the nearby wall. He had been out for almost twenty minutes.

"Um…" Gamzee averted his eyes and stared at a wall, embarrassed for some reason and uneasy under her inquisitive gaze. "I think I'm ready now."

She smiled and made a note. "It has been an hour since we've entered this room and we are just now getting started. Well, it's progress." After a few more scribbles, she looked up at him. "You can begin anywhere you want."

Gamzee shifted in his seat and flexed his fingers. "Alright… Well, my name's not really Gamzee."

"I figured, but you may continue." He glared at her only to receive another smirk.

"My name isn't Gamzee," he repeated. "It's Garrett, same as my dad. Only his middle name is Harry while mine is James. So if you're drunk enough, Garrett and James can get all motherfuckin' together to make Gamzee."

He rocked in his chair. "My mom was drunk. She was drunk all the time. And she also got high a lot; 'cause a bottle of wine a day wasn't enough to fuck her over enough to make her somewhat functional. But even though she was motherfuckin' slammed over the head with all the shit she put in her body all day, she still managed to hate me."

"She hated you?" Ms. Pyrope wrote quickly while looking at Gamzee's face. "Why?"

"'Cause I look like my dad. I'm his fuckin' spittin' image. Man, I bet you some motherfuckin' scientist took some shit out of him and cloned it to make me. I wasn't born normal, couldn't have been. We've got the same exact face. My mom hated him for leaving her, so she hated me just 'cause I was his twin.

"Just about anything I did set her the mother fuck off. I got a bad grade on some shit at school? She'd lock me out 'till she remembered I wasn't in the house. I talked smack to her sorry ass? She'd smack me on whatever part she could reach, over and over again. I took too long to get her a bottle of whatever the fuck? She'd break it over my head."

Terezi's mom gave a wince of sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't want any of your pity. I don't need it. I got my best friend's pity and that's all."

"So, what happened with you and her? Do you two talk or…?"

Gamzee smirked. "She's dead. I killed her. Choked her on the floor while she was dying of an overdose."

The other looked aghast. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "Guess I shouldn't be sayin' that shit to a lawyer, but you're not playin' a lawyer right now, so I'm chill with it. You gonna charge me after it's over?"

"Well…" She looked slightly uncomfortable. "Depends on how long ago the murder occurred…"

"Years ago. I was… Fourteen, I think."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty three. Like I said: it's been motherfuckin' years."

She settled in her chair and folded her arms, the notebook resting lightly on her lap. "I guess I could let it drop. Question is, why aren't you in jail?"

Gamzee looked at her, purple eyes facing teal ones. "You ain't a lawyer right now."

"Of course. We should move on. So you killed your mother when you fourteen. What happened next?"

"I met my dad."

There was a pause. Obviously, Terezi's mom wanted to hear more, but Gamzee found himself unable to say anything more.

"Is something… wrong? Was he the same as your mom?"

He shook his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Nah, he was the baddest motherfucker I've never seen in my life. He was fuckin' awesome."

"Then what's the matter? What happened?" Her questions were gentle and her voice had lost its businesslike edge.

_I don't want your sympathy. I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY._ Gamzee rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

"He just… He just kinda got up and left. He said nothin' to me. I was graduatin' and I was feelin' so motherfuckin' proud of myself 'cause it turned out I wasn't the sad fuck up everyone had thought I was, but he… he wasn't there to see me walk. I looked out over the crowd and all I saw was his motherfuckin' car pullin' away from the parking lot."

A tear squeezed out from between his fingers, falling onto his pants with a quiet _plip_. "Every time I tried to call him, he never answered. He eventually changed his number and moved from his old place. I don't know what I did; I don't know what was going through his head. 'Cause even though we looked the same, I never motherfuckin' knew what was goin' through that brain of his. He kept a lot of secrets, and I usually just brushed 'em off as shit I wasn't supposed to know because I didn't need to. But I just can't stop wonderin' that… Maybe if I had asked then I would know what was goin' on, and then I could've stopped him from leavin' or somethin'. But I dunno." Gamzee turned away and faced the window.

"All I can come up with is that I disappointed him. That's all I can do; disappoint other people. And once I graduated, he thought it a good a time as motherfuckin' any to leave."

"Had it ever occurred to you that he left because of some other reason? His job, maybe?" She looked at her notebook and flipped to another page. "Why don't you tell me about what he did?"

"Hell if I know. All he would say when I asked was that he worked for a huge bitch and her little lapdog. He never said anythin' more than that."

"I see."

"And besides, why would his job keep him away for five years without him even sayin' anythin' or droppin' by or any other shit like that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps a surprise reassignment? Was his job military-related?"

"Dunno. I think he mentioned security something at one point."

"Well maybe a top-secret security job?"

"Whatever. All that matters is he abandoned me and never came back." His voice had dropped to close to a whisper.

"Do you hate him?"

"No I don't hate him. And why is that? Why can't I just motherfuckin' hate him and move the mother fuck on? Why do I have to fuckin' LOVE HIM SO MUCH and have this stupid little hope that he'll come back one day?"

He stood up and whirled to face Ms. Pyrope. "Do you know I would wait at our place EVERY DAY for motherfuckin' _hours _in the hope he'd come back? I got a fuckin' place in the same goddamn building and paid security to tell me if he came back. They had to stop taking it because it had been three motherfuckin' years and no one had even seen him in the fuckin' city since he'd gone. But you know what? Stupid fuckin' me REFUSED TO BELIEVE HE WOULD JUST ABANDON ME."

Gamzee was breathing heavily. He was hunched over, grabbing his sides and shivering with the tears he kept inside.

"That's when they came."

Terezi's mom looked up interestedly. "Who, exactly?"

"The voices. The visions. Fuckin' everythin'."

"So your father's abandonment caused you so much grief you developed a mental condition?"

"Motherfuckin' guess so."

"Well, it's not like that is anything unusual. What do they sound like?"

Gamzee pointed at his temple. "There's two voices. And one's all calm and shit and tells me these little motherfuckin' lies in this funny little voice that's sweet as hell." The other finger pointed at his other temple. "Then there's this other one that motherfuckin' yells at me and tells me how fuckin' stupid I am and that it's gonna motherfuckin' kill me. And sometimes they team up and make me do shit if I can't tune 'em out right."

Ms. Pyrope hummed. "Have you been officially diagnosed?"

"Paranoid schizophrenia," Gamzee mumbled, hands dropping to his sides.

"I assume you take medicine for it?"

"Yeah, but they don't really do much. I do a lot of motherfuckin' weed and shit and that helps."

"And that's why we're here. To help you deal with your demons and your illness in a more…" She folded her hands and tilted her head. "Constructive way."

"Hm." Gamzee sat back down in his chair and covered his face.

"Do you play any instruments? Draw? Sing?"

"I used to be able to draw a lil' bit. And I played guitar until some motherfucker broke the damned thing."

"Alright, why don't pick up drawing again? I have heard it can be very therapeutic."

"Can't draw anymore."

"You can always learn again—"

"No, I mean I can't draw again. Nothin's worth drawin' anymore."

"Why not?"

Sadness settled over the room and Gamzee slumped even lower in his seat, tapping a sneaker-clad foot on the ground in a slow, meandering rhythm. Ms. Pyrope felt the change in atmosphere and held her pen carefully in her hand and her notebook in the other, poised to take more notes. But Gamzee didn't speak. Minutes passed, and he stayed in the same position, tapping his foot in time with the broken rise and fall of his chest. It suddenly occurred to her that he was silently weeping.

Standing up, she walked over and knelt next at his feet, rubbing a hand against his knee.

"Gamzee," she said softly. "What's the matter?"

Hands shot out and grabbed her, pulling her up into his chest and holding her there. Tears dampened her collar and she awkwardly patted his back. "Hush, hush… It's alright, just tell me what's wrong."

"The world looks motherfuckin' wrong, sis." The older woman cringed internally at the nickname, but kept her composure. "Everythin's all dull and shit. There's no color anymore and the sky's motherfuckin' gray. What with my dad gone and everyone movin' away and those motherfuckers I've had to hang out with lately 'cause I got no one else, I can't find anything really to look at. It just feels…" He buried his head in her shoulder. "Wrong. Everything feels wrong and hard and sharp and I hate it. I hate it and I hate EVERYTHING."

Ms. Pyrope started and shook out the ringing in her ears. "I'm so sorry, but I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Gamzee didn't answer, but began slowly rocking back and forth. Eventually, he started to sing, and from the sound of it, it was some sort of lullaby.

"Hush now, little one, don't you cry

I'll hold you in these arms of mine

You're my blood, my flesh, my soul

You're the one who keeps me whole

Stay right here and never leave

Sit here quietly and gently sleep

I'll bear your nightmares on my back

I'll make up for all that you lack

Your fears, your terrors, I know them all

I've felt them since I was small

So worry not and never leave

Sit here quietly and gently sleep

Promise me you'll never fear

At least not when I am here"

Gamzee hummed the rest of the verses, the soothing melody winding its way through the air and filling the older woman with a deeper pity than she had felt in years. Hugging Gamzee a little tighter, she asked, "Did your father teach you that?"

"Yeah. I got nightmares a lot when I was little. Still do, really. But he'd come in and hug me to his chest and just start singin'."

"And that made all the nightmares go away?"

"Mm hm."

She pulled away and surveyed the young man in front of her. His hair flopped in front of his face and his paint was smudged from his tears.

"You look a mess," she remarked, making a gesture at his face.

"Figured." He grinned at her. "Least my paint didn't come all the way off. Looks motherfuckin' nasty under there."

"I see." She walked over to her chair and scooped up her notebook. Thumbing through the previous pages, she glanced backwards at Gamzee.

"I think we are finished for today, don't you agree?"

Stretching, he hummed his approval and stood up. He slouched past her towards the door, grabbing the knob in his hand but not turning it just yet.

"Thanks, Ms. Pyrope. You're not all that motherfuckin' bad for a lawyer playin' at bein' a psychiatrist."

"I try my best."

Gamzee opened the door and made his way to the front. He glanced to the side and stopped dead at the sight of his phone on the table near the door.

"The mother fuck did he find this?" Gamzee exclaimed, grabbing his phone and checking to see everything was as he left it. He sighed audibly as he flicked through his music collection after inspecting his pictures. Nothing had changed.

"You've got good friends, don't you?" He looked back to see Terezi's mom leaning against a wall.

"Guess I motherfuckin' do." The man grinned at her. "Pretty goddamned lucky, ain't I?"

She smiled back and brushed past him, taking the knob from his hand and pulling the door open. As she walked out, Gamzee heard her voice return to its sharp, assertive cadence.

"Yes, you are. Now make sure you pick up a pencil and start drawing again. It doesn't have to be a work of art, just make sure you release all of your pent-up tension and emotions. If that doesn't work, get a guitar at a thrift shop and start playing. Just find something to occupy yourself with so the transition from addiction to sobriety can be as stress-free as it can. I'll get your address from Terezi so I can check on you from time-to-time."

"And what happens if I don't do what you say?"

She paused and looked back at him, the smirk on her face a carbon copy of her daughter's. "I'll have you put away for that little crime you committed nine years ago. I'm sure I could dig up evidence from somewhere."

"Even though it's been nine years?"

"Cases have been won on less, Mr. Makara." She tossed her hair and walked to her car, a modest white sedan.

Gamzee watched her pull out of the neighborhood with his hands in his pockets. Unwilling to walk the many miles to his house, he sat on the curb and dialed Karkat's number. His friend picked up on the first ring.

"How'd it go? Did she interrogate you? I told Terezi that if I heard her mother had tried to launch an investigation on you this entire fucking this is being called off."

"Nah, man, she was chill. Really understanding and all that."

Karkat sighed. "Good, good. That's awesome. Nothing went wrong, did it?"

"Things went as smooth as they could motherfuckin' go, bro."

"Really? Damn. That's different. I was expecting a nonchalant report on how you tried to snap her neck."

"Haha, yeah. Not like I'd attack someone related to Terezi, though. She'd probably break my arm before I could hit her."

"Actually, she'd have you on the floor with her foot on your throat before you could move. Then Terezi would come in and kill you for trying to mess with her mother. Speaking of Terezi, she wants to talk to you."

"Put her on, then."

Scuffling noises came from the other side before Terezi's voice came on the line.

"Hey Gamz, how did everything go?"

"Just motherfuckin' fine, sis. Still kinda sore over being used as a lab rat but it's all good."

"Oh, you'll get over it. Mom's the best! Bet you felt all nice and cozy under her sharp prosecutor stare."

"Yup. Felt like I was motherfuckin' dissected and put together with extra needles sewn inside."

She laughed at that. "Good to hear! Well, before I go, I just want to say that you should do exactly what she says, 'cause she has experience with stuff like this."

"Well, considering she works with motherfuckin' criminals…"

"Nope, not even that! She's got, oh, you could say… _personal experience_, if you know what I mean."

"Wait, wha—"

"Karkat wants the phone back. Bye bye Gamzee! Oh, and don't tell Karkat anything. Promise me!" She made a kissing noise and Karkat took over the phone.

"Alright, so what did she say?"

"Weren't you standing right next to her, bro?"

"She took off like a bat out of hell as soon as she got the fucking thing. I didn't catch a word."

"Oh… Sorry, bro. This mother fucker's gonna have to be all tight-lipped so I don't have to motherfuckin' face what happens if I tell you."

"God fucking dammit, TEREZI!" Gamzee held the phone a foot away from his ear as Karkat yelled at his girlfriend. He couldn't help but laugh at his best friend's rage; he could never figure out where all of it fit inside of his small frame.

Once Karkat's voice died down, Gamzee returned the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"I'm here, I'm here. You need anything? We're at the mall."

"You wanna get me some sneaks, bro? Like purple and white high tops or some shit?"

"You need sneakers like you need your drugs, which, by the way, I've confiscated from your house and dumped in the ocean because you don't need them anymore. I know, I know. I'm such a good friend. You're currently prostrating yourself on the ground even though I can't see it. How do I know? I'm receiving your gratitude via the grateful wavelengths my brain is able to intercept."

Gamzee didn't even react at the news. Not outwardly, at least. His rage simmered under the surface far enough to where he could maintain a calm façade, but close enough so he could still feel the heat.

"Sounds… motherfuckin' cool, man."

"I know. I've got to go now before Terezi runs into another vendor's stand. I swear, she's doing this on purpose by this point. Anyways, I'll see you whenever I do, okay?"

"Yup yup."

"Right. Take it really fucking easy, Gamzee."

The end-of-call beep sounded and he let the phone drop on his lap. Rolling his neck, he slammed his fist against the sidewalk, hearing all of his knuckles crack and seeing blood beginning to drip down his fingers. Sucking on one of the joints, he looked around. Karkat's neighborhood was not as prestigious as the one Gamzee lived in, but it was cozy. It was a place where everyone knew each other and everyone helped one another, including Karkat. In some ways, he envied his friend. Despite his surly demeanor and his tendency to ramble insults at anyone who looked at him strangely, people tended to gravitate towards him and he had the sheer force of will to keep them there.

Until they all played the game, that is. The game tore everyone apart. Now they couldn't be near each other without uncomfortable memories surfacing. Everyone just played nice and tried to make things work with each other, but it was never the same compared to their lives before the game. Rather than hanging out at every opportunity, they hung out when they absolutely needed to, like when one got hurt or there was a birthday party.

In some ways, Gamzee felt glad for his friends' distance. Yes, it hurt that no one wanted to be around him anymore, but game caused too much drama. It was fun at first, then things went sour, then they all went their separate ways. He missed them, but at least there was no more betrayal and lies to worry about.

Gamzee huffed and flopped onto the sidewalk and stared at the clouds. Lifting a hand, he traced the edges with a finger. Already he was imagining how he could draw them. He'd have to go to the store later that day and pick up a sketchbook, some more pencils, maybe a good eraser to replace the various eraser pieces he had scattered around his home. Maybe he'd splurge and get a huge pack of colored pencils. No, he'd just get blue ones for now so he could draw the sky like he wanted to—

He sat up suddenly, still looking upwards. It couldn't be, there was no way.

The sky was blue again.


	8. Something New

Chapter 8: Something New

His dad dropped him off at their apartment with instructions to grab a bite to eat and get to bed. Gamzee didn't feel that hungry, so he fetched an apple from the fridge and made his way to his room. Once there, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it onto the floor, making a mental note to put it away properly once he woke up. Gamzee then proceeded to strip down to his underwear and flop onto his bed. He took a bite of apple and let the it roll onto his sheets, mind too preoccupied with what he saw with Eridan and Feferi to care about whether or not the juice would stain.

They were asking him to believe the impossible. There was no way his dad, the man who had saved him from his terrible life only a few hours before, could be a cold-blooded killer. Granted, the man looked frightening, but Gamzee knew deep down that he had a good heart.

"They're wrong," the boy proclaimed, turning onto his side and reaching out for his apple. "Dad ain't no murderer. They've just got their facts wrong."

He took another bite and threw the apple at his wall. He closed his eyes just before it hit and was awarded with a solid _thunk_ as it met its demise. He couldn't stop his mind from returning to the room where his dad, Meenah, and Eridan's dad conversed. He couldn't help but be curious about what exactly they were talking about. Maybe the whole massacre part was a metaphor for making them go bankrupt or something. They couldn't mean that literally; no one would be so cold-blooded to kill however many people in the company the adults were talking about. He rolled over and pulled his knees to his chest. If that weird code was all Eridan and Feferi heard, then no wonder they thought his dad was a murderer. He grunted happily with his reasoning, and within a few minutes, he was sound asleep.

* * *

_He found himself in the middle of an intersection of two long and dark hallways with no memory of how or when he got there. Both were lined with various skulls holding large, black torches, though it seemed as if no one had bothered to light most of them. The walls were painted with a mixture of abstract smears and intricate murals, all colored with some sort of red paint. He walked closer to one and was walloped in the nose with a sickening rusty smell. Running a finger over it, he found the picture was still wet, meaning it had been painted moments before he arrived there. Looking nearer and sniffing the paint, he almost threw up what little he had in his stomach; it was blood. Wiping his hand hurriedly on his pants, he decided to walk a little farther down the hall in hopes of finding a way out. He came upon a large door and pushed on it, stumbling a bit as it creakily gave way and let him inside. _

_ This time, he threw up for real. It smelled fifteen times worse in here. Murals covered the walls and the ceilings, all of which were painted in blood. _Or maybe some of it's blood and the rest of it's paint_, he tried to reassure himself, even though he knew he was being stupid and clinging to his denial. Shaking his head, he tore his eyes away from the gory walls and examined the rest of the room. There wasn't much to look at; the room was completely empty save for the massive throne in its middle and the equally massive man resting comfortably in it. _

_ He stifled a gasp and tried to duck back outside, but he felt something tingling inside of his head and he found himself unable to move. His terrified eyes fixed upon the other's face, and he could make out a smile creeping across the man's face. A finger rose and beckoned him forwards. Shivering, he obeyed and slowly moved closer._

_ "How did you get in here?" the man asked quietly. There was no answer; he was too consumed with fear._

_ "I asked. HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?" He fell to his knees and covered his ears with a grimace on his face. The man's voice echoed in the room and was painfully loud, especially at the close distance he was at._

_ "I… I don't know…" he whimpered._

_ A hand darted out and grabbed his chin to tug his head upwards. Identical eyes bored into each other and identical expressions of surprise crossed their faces. _

_ "Well, well, well," he said. "Look what we have here. It's mini-me."_

_ "D-dad?" he asked. "Why the mother fuck are you here? What's with all this blood?" He coughed a bit as his father adjusted his grip and put some pressure on his windpipe._

_ His brow furrowed. "Dad?" he asked, ignoring Gamzee's questions. "We might look the same, but I'm sure as motherfuckin' hell not related to you."_

_ "Man, don't you see? It's me, Gamzee! Your kid, remember?"_

_ "No, I don't remember. I haven't seen you before in my life, except maybe in the mirror when I was about your age."_

_ This was crazy. His own dad didn't remember him? He shook his head and the hand let go of his chin. The boy scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, ignoring the hands grabbing at his mind and the voice calling him back. He didn't stop running until he found himself where he woke up. Gamzee stopped there as he contemplated where to go, wrapping his arms around his torso and shaking with fear. He had no way of knowing if his dad, or the man who looked like his dad, was chasing him, but he needed to get a move on. Taking a step forward, his foot connected with something solid in front of him. Gasping, he stepped back and stared at the man lying motionless and face down on the floor. After looking around, he knelt and rolled the body over to take a look at his face. He almost wished he hadn't. The man was covered in numerous wounds from which bright red blood flowed, matching the dye in his hair. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle and his chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His condition was critical and Gamzee had no idea how to treat him, but that wasn't what stopped his heart and froze his breath in his lungs._

_ The man looked almost exactly like Tavros._

* * *

On Monday, Gamzee woke up to his dad tapping his head with a coat hanger.

"Get up," he said gruffly. "Your uniform's at the foot of your bed and I've got a breakfast taco waiting for you in the kitchen."

Gamzee stared after him as he walked out the door as if he could find the meaning of his recent dreams in his dad's retreating back. Sighing when nothing presented itself, he threw off the covers and stood up to stretch. As Gamzee arched his back and angled his arms over his head, he glanced at the uniform on his bed. It was simple; a black jacket, white shirt, and black pants with a dark purple stripe across the middle of the right sleeve and the school's crest on the breast pocket. He cringed as he saw the matching purple tie lying next to the suit and wondered if he could get away with not wearing it.

Fifteen minutes later, Gamzee wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the taco sitting on the counter. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved the device in order to turn it off. However, he stopped cold when he read the announcement near the bottom of the lock screen.

"'CaligulasAquarium messaged you'?" Gamzee read aloud. Wasn't that Eridan's handle? What was he doing online this early? He unlocked the screen, stuffed half the taco in his mouth, and opened the Trollian app to read what the boy had sent.

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

CA: okay so i'm goin to givve you some advvice before you make an ass a yourself

CA: an maybe evven fef an i it depends on howw close wwe are to you wwhen the ass makin is bein done

CA: number one

CA: no cursin no matter howw fuckin temptin it is

CA: number twwo

CA: act like you havve some sense a class an decorum this is a damn high class school alright

CA: number three

CA: if you must act like a lowwlife hoodrat then do it wwhere no one can see you or come close to wwhere you are

CA: number four

CA: showw some fuckin respect to the teachers an staff an upperclassmen an basically evveryone older than you

CA: mostly because they'll break your fuckin shit off if you don't

CA: and the last thing wwe need is your dad hulk smashin through the doors an killin people because his kid wwas stupid

CA: wwhoa fuck sorry ignore that last one

CA: but basically just don't embarrass yourself okay gam

TC: WiLl Do, DoGg.

TC: :o)

CA: wwait wwhat are you doin this is just me layin dowwn the laww a the land you don't need to respond

TC: WeLl

TC: I'm JuSt KiNdA cOnFuSeD aS tO wHy YoU'rE mEsSaGiN mE aNd FeFeRi IsN't.

CA: wwhy you got a thing for her

TC: NoOo...

CA: i'm just gonna tell you noww that fef is off limits

CA: she's my responsibility and that's fuckin that deal

TC: DuDe, I dOn'T hAvE a ThInG fOr HeR, i WaS jUsT tHiNkIn ThIs WoUlD bE a ThInG sHe'D dO. tHaT's AlL.

TC: DoN't NeEd To TaKe YoUr PaNtIeS aNd TwIsT tHaT sHiT lIkE iT's FuLl Of LiQuId AnD tHaT mOtHeRfUcKeR nEeDs To Be DrY iN fIvE gOdDaMn MiNuTeS.

CA: okay just shut up

CA: shouldn't you be catchin your bus right noww wwhy are wwe still talkin

TC: No ReAl ReAsOn, BrOtHeR. yOu StArTeD iT.

CA: one i'm not your fuckin brother twwo you're the one wwho answwered wwhen you didn't havve to three i'm goin before your fuckin wway a typin rots my brain

CA: see you at school maybe

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

Just in time, too, because his dad came into the kitchen right as Gamzee was putting his phone in his pocket. The man's eyes went straight to the taco halfway in his mouth.

"Boy, swallow that before you get lockjaw," he said amusedly. Gamzee bit off the piece in his mouth, swallowed it without chewing, and shoved in the rest of it. He coughed a bit as he finished his taco off, then grinned at his father.

Shaking his head, he held up Gamzee's ratty old backpack. "Missing something?"

"Oh fuck, yeah," the boy said as he reached out for it. His face changed to confusion as Garrett held it out of his reach with a sly smile.

"Shit, no wonder you forgot it. This thing looks fuckin' terrible." He dropped the bag onto the floor and kicked it near the trashcan. Gamzee let out a squeak of dismay, then felt something smack against his head. His head whipped around and fixed upon the solid black backpack lying on the ground next to him.

"Dude, you're just spoilin' me by this point!" He picked the bag up and rubbed his face on the strong, yet soft material.

"It's got everything you're going to need in it, and the front pocket's got a notebook with your locker, your homeroom, and your schedule inside. Now hurry up, we've got twenty minutes and I'm sure as hell not letting you be late on your first goddamn day of school."

Gamzee slung the backpack on and practically ran out the door. One short elevator ride later, they were in the car and on their way to his new school.

"So what's it like?" he asked his dad when they were halfway there. "The school, I mean."

"It's pretty prestigious. It's got the highest average GPA in the state, I think."

"Mother fuck, man! Why the hell you went and enrolled me in something like that?"

"Because I heard you're actually smart when you try."

"But like... don't they look at your record or some shit when they're acceptin' people?"

His father laughed at that. "Boy, this isn't college. Anyone can enroll, you just have to be able to pay."

"But..."

"Gamzee. You're going here because no buses from your old school come out all the way out here, and I'm not going to ferry you there and back every single motherfuckin' day. This is closer, and I know it's nicer than that shithole your mother made you go to. That's really all there needs to be said about that."

"I've got friends at my old school," Gamzee huffed as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"And you made new friends just yesterday. Calm your shit, boy, you'll be fine."

Silence descended upon the car as Garrett pulled into the school. It was at least four stories, and the front of the building was covered in different types of carvings, pillars, and arches. The courtyard in the front featured a fountain with fish jumping out of it and water spraying from their mouths. Bushes and various plants surrounded the fountain and spread out to form a natural barrier between the parking lot and the front doors. Kids flowed from buses and cars into the doors, sometimes clustering into groups or splitting in order to let someone through. Gamzee, after picking his jaw off of his lap, noticed that not everyone had the same purple stripe on the arms of their jackets; different shades of green, blue, and purple mingled within the crowd.

"Alright, so you know where you need to go?" His dad's voice brought him back to the car.

"Let me check," he answered, pulling out the notebook and pulled out his homeroom number. "Room 420," he announced, holding in laughter.

Gamzee earned a gentle smack over his head. "You're fuckin' immature. Get out my car, boy."

Gamzee exited and waved his dad off as he pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. Turning around, he looked at the throng of teens in front of him. He took a few steps forward and was immediately bumped into by a boy with a green stripe on his sleeve.

"Shit," he grunted, lightly pushing aside another kid threatening to slam into him. He felt a hand on his shoulders and he spun around, coming face-to-face with a familiar pair of glasses.

"W-well, w-well, w-well. The w-white trash managed to get to school before me."

"Nice to see you too, bro," Gamzee answered, running a hand through his messy hair. He noticed that Eridan sported a violet stripe and tie instead of purple and now had a violet stripe down the middle of his coiffed hair. "Nice hair," he added.

Eridan shifted a black briefcase to his other hand and pushed his glasses farther up his nose, ignoring his comment with a curl of his lip.

"W-what homeroom are you in? Because if you're in mine I'm requestin' a fuckin' transfer."

"420."

"Figures," he scoffed. "But I'm not complainin'. I'm dow-wn the hall an' to the left, so I probably w-won't be seein' you that much."

"Damn. Here I was thinkin' we were gonna bet to bein' buddies or some shit."

"Don't mistake me preservin' the school's reputation as me bein' nice."

Suddenly, the crowd around them quieted down and began whispering and pointing behind the two. Following their gaze, Gamzee saw a limousine pull up and Feferi climb out. She tossed her hair and took a sea blue messenger bag from a man, Gamzee assumed he was a butler, inside and picked up a drawstring bag from the floor. She closed the door, blew a kiss at the car, then spun around gracefully to face the school. Unlike the guys, it seemed as if the girls' uniform consisted of a wide ribbon around their necks and a skirt with the ribbon and the hem matching the color on their sleeves. In Feferi's case, they were a pinkish-purple shade.

Eridan waved his hand and yelled a bit to catch her attention, beckoning her over to where they stood. Feferi bounced over and hugged Eridan and then Gamzee, to whom she grinned at when they separated.

"Gamzee! I'm so happy you made it!"

"I guess I'm happier than I was this morning now that I see people I know," he answered, returning her smile with one of his own.

The girl giggled a bit. "Oh, it's not that bad. If you want, I can show you around during lunch."

"Sounds motherfuckin' tight, sis!"

Eridan got a faraway look in his eyes, then refocused and jerked his thumb at the school. "Hey, the w-warning bell just rung an' w-we need to get to the fourth floor."

"Dammit, you're right!" Feferi began sprinting through the doors and down the hallways with the boys right on her tail. They flew up the stairs, with Gamzee taking them three at a time and jumping over railings onto the next flight, leaving the other two behind fairly quickly. Feferi dropped back even more to tug Eridan along, for he was panting hard slowing them down.

"Come on! You minnow we're going to be late and you're lagging!"

"Just leave me behind, I hate my homeroom teacher anyw-ways," the boy whined.

"Oh shut up, you pansy," she snapped. "We're going to make it on time and you literally have no say in the matter!"

"Fuck you, Fef," he spat.

The three made it to the fourth floor with two minutes to spare and intensely burning muscles. Feferi took off her headband, smoothed her hair down, and replaced it as she turned to a disheveled Gamzee.

"What room are you in?"

"420," he answered, breathing heavily.

She shoved Eridan to him and pointed to the right. "Then head down that way. All the room numbers are over the door and are huge, so it shouldn't be a problem. Just leave Eridan on the floor in front of your door if he doesn't feel like walking; he can deal with the consequences."

She began walking to the left and waved at the boys. "Have fun Gamzee!"

Gamzee waved back, too tired to speak, and loped off in the direction Feferi pointed. With less than a minute left before the bell rung, Eridan seemed to find some extra reservoir of energy and sprinted towards his classroom as Gamzee reached his. Placing a hand on the wall and taking a deep breath, he walked into the room just as the teacher reached the door.

Her eyes squinted as she tried to recognize him. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Uh, I'm Gamzee? I'm new... my dad went and filled out all the transfer stuff last week."

She brightened and smiled widely, taking his hand and shaking it. "Oh, hello, Gamzee! I'm Ms. Rosaline. I teach history to the freshmen, so hopefully I can look forward to having you next year."

"Hey, Ms. Rosaline," he said, starting a bit as the bell tolled in the hallways.

She made a move to close the door and Gamzee stepped sideways as it clicked shut.

"Just choose any empty desk... Actually, stand right there." She walked to the whiteboard and tapped a marker loudly against its surface. Everyone quieted down and looked lazily at her.

"Everyone, this is Gamzee Makara. He's new, so if you have any classes with him, make sure you help him out."

There was a smattering of hellos, but for the most part, everyone stared at him with a mixture of interest and disgust. Gamzee waved sheepishly and muttered a "'Sup" as he walked over to a nearby desk and slouched into it.

Someone next to him tapped his arm. His eyes flicked towards them and he saw a statuesque girl with green eyes and short hair looking at him with mild curiosity.

"I believe I speak for the entire class when I ask you who on Earth believed Gamzee would be a suitable name for a child."

The girl spoke well and was polite, but he was getting really tired of explaining his name to people. "It isn't really Gamzee," he said. "It's my first and middle names put together."

"Might I inquire as to what your first and middle names are?"

"Garrett James."

"For the life of me, I cannot figure out how that would combine to make 'Gamzee'."

"Just get higher than a hot air balloon piggybackin' off a rocket and they will."

She tilted her head and smiled a bit at his metaphor. There were a few minutes of silence between the two. The girl cleared her throat lightly and moved a few books on her desk onto the floor. "Well, my name is Kanaya, in case you were wondering. And if you'll forgive me for saying this, I think you're the first Purple I've seen with such a disheveled appearance."

Gamzee couldn't help but laugh a bit at her comment. "Dude, when you come from where I come from, you end up not carin' at all what you end up lookin' like. You just go with whatever flow swings by you that day, you dig?"

Kanaya's eyes drifted to his hair and she hummed her understanding. "What's up with the colors, anyways?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's a ranking system based on the amount of money our families make. It's to make sure the administration can keep an eye on the students who may need financial assistance in the future, but the only thing I see this system doing is perpetuating extensive discrimination between the students because their family's financial status is shamelessly broadcasted to the entire school. It's quite silly, in my opinion, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Sounds rough, sis."

"Well, not for me. My mother is an esteemed doctor and my father works in the landscaping business. I can pick out many students who my parents have done some kind of service to."

He was confused. "Wait a minute... I'm guessin' green means they don't have a lot of money? Well, relatively speakin', 'cause not a lot of money here probably means middle class everywhere else."

"Both are correct."

"Well, if what I got to hearin' was right, then it sounds like you should be somewhere that isn't green. Like one of the sisters who wear blue or somethin'."

She adjusted herself in her seat and patted down her skirt. "We may sound rich, but my parents donate much to city projects and local charities, so we are around Olives in terms of wealth. However, because my family is so well-known and giving, they gave me jade green."

"So you're special?"

"Special isn't really what it is, but it fits, especially because there are so few wearing this color."

"But like, why don't a lot have jade green if you just have to give a bunch of money away?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't really talk enough to the other Jades to know how they earned their color, but I'm sure it's an honor roll type thing where good behavior is recognized by giving the student a unique color to distinguish themselves."

Gamzee didn't quite get that, for he knew how brutal people could get to those different from them. He voiced his concerns to Kanaya and was rewarded with a giggle.

"Well Gamzee, you're about as special as me. Not many qualify to wear purple, and no one looks like you do." She grinned at him, showcasing small white teeth with strangely long canines. "Don't worry about me, I know how to quickly diffuse situations when I need to. Anyways, what classes do you have next? Perhaps I could show you around?"

He pulled out his schedule and handed it to Kanaya. She took a few moments to read it over and said, "English, art, and math. I'm in your math class, but all of the others are on my way, so this works out nicely."

She gave it back to him. "Why don't you sit with me and my friends at lunch? It would be much more fun than sitting by yourself being the awkward new kid."

Gamzee shook his head and clasped his hands behind it. "No can do, sis. I've got someone showin' me around then. Sorry."

"It's fine. Just so you know, the invitation stands for however long it needs to. I sit near the front."

The bell signaling the end of homeroom rang and the two stood up with their bags. Kanaya pulled what seemed to be a large designer purse over her shoulder and picked up a few books from the floor. Gamzee caught sight of the cover of one of them and stuck his tongue out at the two vampires intimately staring at each other with blood dripping from their lips. So the super helpful girl who is going to show him to his English class is into trashy vampire novels. Awesome.

They walked out of the class and continued further down the hallway and turned left. Gamzee remembered this was where Eridan's homeroom was and looked around in hopes of seeing the squinty-eyed British teen. He spotted the top of his spiked head moving in the direction he and Kanaya were headed. Eridan turned into a room on the right just as Kanaya motioned to it.

"Your room is right there. The teacher is strict, but she is quite fair, something I cannot say about my English teacher. I don't mind being the favorite, but my classmates do, and their whispers and gossip get quite tiring after a while." She glanced backwards at him and caught him grinning at the door. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothin', really. Just full of the knowledge that this English class is gonna be awesome."

She arched an eyebrow. "I see. Unless you're being sarcastic, in which case I hope your class goes just as you expect. I doubt it though... The sarcasm, that is; you seem much more genuine than some of the people I associate with."

Kanaya waved at Gamzee as he moved towards the door. "But please, if you have a problem, text me and meet me at the stairs. Use the bathroom as an excuse, as it's right next to them. Alright?"

He nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. "You're a cool chick, Kanaya. Thanks."

She smiled. "You're welcome, Gamzee." She turned with a swish of her skirt and was swallowed by a sea of black uniforms. Gamzee watched her go, and then headed into the reasonably loud chatter of students waiting for class to start. As he looked for a desk to sit at, one distinctly English voice rose above the others:

"Oh my god, are you _serious_? Just w-when I thought I had gotten rid a you!"

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so long pause was long. But I had to take some time to figure out what I wanted to do with this story, and now I figured it out! So yeah, if you can get over the seven chapters of meandering then I can tell you it's going to pick up from here on out!** **Expect the updates to happen more frequently now that I bothered to outline the thing.**

**Thanks for the reviews and stuff! I'll try to answer them from now on~**


	9. Falling Out of Line

Chapter 9: Falling Out of Line

The next few sessions went much the same way: about an hour of silence followed by about half an hour of questioning, during which Ms. Pyrope would ask him about his parents, his friends, and most importantly, any trauma he had experienced in the past. It was when she asked about his past that her ten years of law school showed the most. All of her questions, no matter how innocuous, eventually would lead to a larger question Gamzee would have to answer or else risk contradicting every other answer he gave to that point. He would complain endlessly to Karkat, and sometimes Terezi if he wasn't available, about being manipulated into answering things he never intended to answer, but his friends would always reply with how necessary it was and that it would be over soon. Their reassurances always failed to satisfy Gamzee.

After his most recent appointment, Gamzee walked the familiar path back home grumbling to himself. A professional drum corps had taken residence in his head, painfully reminding him of how Karkat had dumped out his painkillers and told almost everyone in the city to not give him any no matter how much he would pay. He spat on the ground, pretending it was his friend's face, and picked up speed. As Gamzee tripped over the uneven sidewalk, he made a note to get a car as soon as possible.

Eventually, he reached his apartment building and let himself inside. He waved a quick hello to the man behind the desk and opened the door to the stairs. Instead of going straight up, shrugged off his hoodie, sat on the first step, and used the fabric as a pillow as he leaned back. Gamzee remained in the position for an indeterminate amount of time and refused to move until his phone began to ring. He checked the number through half-lidded eyes and made a confused noise. Why was Vriska calling him?

He let it ring for a while and answered it at the last minute. "What's up," he said.

Someone was sobbing on the other end and didn't answer. "Hello?" Gamzee asked, growing worried despite his general dislike of her. "Anyone there? This better be motherfuckin' serious 'cause I ain't hardly got the time to be playin' around."

"No, this is serious," she answered, sniffling. "Um... fuck, I don't know how to say this..."

"Then just spit it out. Don't try and wrap it with some shitty little bow and give it to me like there ain't a huge motherfuckin' cobra in there."

She allowed herself to laugh a bit. "I'd give you a black widow. You know that."

"Whatever. Why'd you call me?"

"Because..." Another pause; Gamzee was getting irritated by this point. As he was about to open his mouth and demand an answer, Vriska hurriedly said, "I called you because Tavros is dead."

Nothing could have prepared him for that. He sat in shocked silence, not moving, hardly breathing.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" he breathed.

"I wish I wasn't!"

"How'd you find out?"

"I was visiting so I could bring him a movie he wanted, but when I got there, he wasn't breathing. I called a nurse as fast as I could, but it was too late." She began crying harder and choked out, "I'm so sorry, Gamzee! I'm so, so, soooooooo sorry!"

Gamzee dropped the phone and stood up, glaring at it like the device was somehow responsible for his friend's death. Disbelief soon gave way to toxic rage, and he wrenched open the door and stormed back out into the streets. He ran as quickly as he could to the ocean and picked his way to the rock he and Karkat had sat on a few weeks before. Standing on it and looking at the water, he contemplated ending his life right there. Tavros was gone, his dad was missing, Karkat and Terezi were getting increasingly serious and spending more and more time with each other, and Gamzee had nothing to take that would erase his worries and make him happy again. His headache intensified and he slammed the side of his fist into his temple, a smart idea that only made it worse.

His head turned at the sound of a radio playing and he saw several guys around his age dancing and laughing around an 80s-style boom box. Standing near the stereo was a dark-skinned man wearing aviator shades, nodding his head to the beat and rapping along. Gamzee tilted his head and furrowed his brow, torn between the urge to go over and check the scene out and wanting the group to leave him in peace. The former won out and he hopped down from his spot and warily made his way over to them. One of the men turned around, saw him, and smiled a wide buck-toothed smile and fixed his glasses.

"Hey! Can I help you?"

"Yeah, um, what's goin' on over here, exactly?"

"Nothing really! We just kind of met up here and decided to play some music and jam to it."

"Oh. Alright. That's cool."

Gamzee began to walk away, but the other grabbed his arm.

"Hey, do you want to join us? I'm sure Dave won't mind! We sure as hell won't."

"Dave?"

He nodded to the man in the center, still rapping with a perfectly neutral expression and his hands in his pockets. Gamzee hummed as he took in his bleached hair and carefully uncaring appearance. "That motherfucker?" he asked.

"Yup."

"As wicked as joinin' y'all sounds, I gotta get goin'."

The man looked at him with confused blue eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Hey John!" Dave interrupted. The one named John turned to look at him. "Who's that?"

"Him? He's... uh... What's your name?"

"Gamzee," he answered.

"Gamzee!" John snickered a bit. "That's a really funny name." Gamzee didn't bother to explain it to him.

Dave paused the track with a sneaker-clad toe, ignoring the others' protests. "Why'd you invite a juggalo over here?"

"I didn't! He just came over by himself to check out what we were doing."

Dave turned his attention to Gamzee and looked at him over his lenses. Red eyes met purple eyes as the two scrutinized each other. He replaced his sunglasses and tucked his hands in his pockets once more.

"Well, you found out. You stayin' or you goin'?"

"I was thinkin' of goin' 'cause I've got better things to do than stand around and watch a motherfucker throw down."

Dave smirked. "Why? Jealous of this sicknasty flow?"

Gamzee held up his hands. "Not really, I've just got places to be."

"What's so important that you can't stay a while and chill? I mean, if a fuckin' meteor were headed towards us, I can see why you need to go." Everyone rolled their eyes and groaned, but Dave waved them off and continued.

"Seriously, I get it. You need to get home, kiss your girlfriend, hug your friends, watch that trashy movie some crazy lady on the corner gave you because she saw you staring at the cover and wondering whether or not Chad and Jane will hook up. She got it. She knew your question needed to be answered right goddamned now and she gave it to you free. 'Take this, dearie,' she said. 'I won't be needing it anymore.' So you took it and hid it somewhere, but that shit is coming out along with the ice cream because you're goin' to find before that hunk of rock slams into your house. But I haven't heard of any meteor headed anywhere near our general direction, so you're gonna need a serious fuckin' excuse to get away from all of this."

"My friend died," Gamzee said bluntly.

Dave's poker face turned pale and John covered his mouth. "Jesus... man, I'm sorry..."

"It's chill. I need to get to my friend's house and see if they're informed and shit. But maybe I'll check you guys out later."

"Cool," Dave answered as Gamzee turned around and walked off in the direction of Karkat's house.

"Nice meeting you, Gamzee!" John called. Gamzee threw up a hand in goodbye and kept walking.

* * *

A few weeks later, after the funeral arrangements were made and his body laid to rest, Gamzee found himself in Ms. Pyrope's car headed to his apartment.

"Why are we doin' this again?" he asked as he quickly undid his tie and threw it on the floor.

"Because this is the perfect time to see a therapist. Or in your case, me."

"Bullshit. You're just lookin' for an excuse to comb my brain some more, aren't you?"

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "Where do I turn?"

"Next right. Don't avoid the question."

"What do you want me to say, Gamzee? That yes, I enjoy getting you to spill everything on your mind? I'll give you a hint: it's not true. I'm trying my hardest to help you and you're being difficult."

"I'm being difficult? I didn't ask for any of this?" Gamzee sat up and glared at her. "I admitted I have a problem and all I get is some bitch interrogatin' me and my shit taken and my best friend droppin' dead. Every single motherfuckin' bit of this was dictated to me by people who I thought were gonna take care of me."

"If you had your way, you would be sitting on you ass smoking pot and being a depressed little shit," she spat vehemently. She took the turn harder than necessary, throwing Gamzee into the window. He couldn't even marvel at hearing her curse; he was too angry.

"Better to be a depressed motherfucker then what I am now!"

"Tell me, what are you now?" She pulled the car into a parking space and turned to face him. "Because if what I've seen is any indicator, you're much better off than the stoned junkie you were."

He bared his teeth and slammed a fist into the glass. "At least I was happy! Yeah, I couldn't think straight enough to know my brain was bein' motherfuckin' rotted, but I wasn't tryin' to fight back the urge to snap a bitch's neck!"

She arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Is that a threat, Gamzee Makara?"

"Only if you want it to be," he growled.

She laughed and turned the car off. "Get out and lead me to your room."

Fuming, he climbed out and slammed the door shut, but he didn't make any move towards the front door. Terezi's mom got out and began walking, but stopped when she didn't hear Gamzee follow. Looking behind her, she said, "Come on, I've got to go to work in a few hours."

"I'm not movin'."

"Yes you are." She walked back over and grabbed his wrist. "Come on."

He wrenched it away and looked at her from under his bangs. "No."

"Gamzee, you are being ridiculous," she huffed as she put her hands on her hips. "You are distraught from Tavros's death, I get it. But nothing is going to be solved by you acting like a spoiled brat."

He began breathing heavily, adrenaline beginning to flow through his veins and turn his vision red. "I ain't goin', and that's. Motherfuckin'. That."

Ms. Pyrope opened her mouth to say something, but a glare from Gamzee stopped her.

"I'm done, you hear me? I'm motherfuckin' done with all of this. I'm done talkin' to you like words are gonna change shit. I'm done with tryin' to convince myself that anything's gonna change. I'm done with people gettin' up in my ass and into my stuff. Why can't anyone just leave me the MOTHER FUCK ALONE?"

As he yelled, he pushed Terezi's mom and swung at her as she stumbled. With no time to recover, there was no way she could block the punch and got hit in the nose. She fell backwards and sat on the ground, tears running down her face and blood flowing from her nose. She clutched it in her hands and looked at the young man standing over her.

"Are you out of your _mind_, Gamzee?" she said, words muffled and distorted through her fingers.

"I think we already motherfuckin' established that," he answered, grinning. He placed a foot on her chest and pushed her down. "You wanna know what they're sayin' now? They're tellin' me to kill you. To kill you like I killed everyone else I killed."

"You wouldn't dare!" She took a hand away and tried her hardest to move his foot from her sternum.

Gamzee laughed an insane laugh. "You don't think I would? Think again."

He took his foot away and crouched down next to her. "Takin' lives ain't that hard, you know. It's a lot easier then tryin' to keep someone alive. And I don't think I should let you live, if I was bein' motherfuckin' honest."

Ms. Pyrope's eyes widened as his hand moved towards her face. _Just do it,_ a voice sang in his head. _It'll be easy. It'll be like killing your mom all over again._

"Shouldn't I get more creative, though?" he muttered aloud.

_NO, IDIOT. SOMEONE MIGHT SHOW UP AND THEN YOU'LL BE FUCKED._

"Right..." he hummed. He reached back and prepared to smash her throat in, but the slam of a car door stopped him cold.

"What the actual fuck is going on here?" A familiar and extremely pissed off voice rang out nearby.

"Shit," he growled. He stood up and kicked her in the temple in the hopes of knocking her out. Not bothering to check, he looked around and spotted Karkat heading towards the car with Terezi clinging to his arm.

"Gamzee? Where's Terezi's mom? We need to talk to her."

He didn't answer, eyes darting between the body lying motionless next to him and his friend getting increasingly closer.

"Gamzee? You okay? Is there something wrong?"

He stared at his friend and debated whether or not to take them out too. He could stuff them into the car and dump them on the beach without much of a problem. Of course, there was the problem of someone finding them there...

"Hey, clown asshole. I'm talking to you. What's the matter?"

No, he couldn't. He was already in deep enough shit as it was. Backing away, he took one last look at his friend, then turned around and sprinted away. Karkat's voice followed him as he ran down the street and onto the bridge leading to the city.


	10. Beginning of the End

**A/N: Okay yep send hate my way cause this took way too goddamn long and I'm sorry. Or just read it because I don't like receiving hate ahahah. Enjoy!**

* * *

After a long lecture from the teacher about the classroom's rules, Gamzee took a seat behind Eridan. The boy aimed a nasty glare at him as he passed, to which he could only respond with a dopey grin and playful waggle of the fingers. Eridan huffed loudly and removed a notebook and a pencil from his desk. While the teacher, whose name Gamzee had forgotten already, droned endlessly about subjects and predicates and objects and clauses, the teen in front scribbled furiously then tossed the paper behind him. Gamzee caught the sheet by the tips of his fingers and tucked it under his desk while staring fixedly at the teacher, praying she didn't notice. She didn't, or at least pretended not to, and continued on with the lesson while jabbing at the whiteboard with a bright red pointer. Allowing himself to relax, Gamzee looked at the note clutched in his fingers.

_okay so let me let you in on a few things_

_you saw those glares you got when you entered the classroom right_

_and no im not talkin about the hatestare i gave you cause that's just a complementary thing for being a complete embarassment im talkin about fuckin everyone else_

_thats what you get for bein a purple cause everyone fuckin hates purples_

_they think were self-entitled shits which some are but thats not the goddamn point_

Here, Gamzee rolled his eyes, for Eridan was a prime example of a "self-entitled shit".

_youre probably gonna get a lot of shit_

_so youre thinkin "whys eridan doin this why the fuck does he care"_

_its cause i dont want you fuckin whinin to me when you cant make any friends_

_im not even gonna pretend to entertain that shit you got me loud and clear_

_good now fuckin pay attention cause im not helpin you with your homework either_

Gamzee snorted, balled up the note, and beaned it at the back of Eridan's head. He froze, slowly tightened his hold on his pencil, and slightly turned his head to glare from the corner of his eye. His mouth curled into a grimace and a disgusted noise escaped his throat.

"Do that again an' I'll fight you in the middle a class," Eridan hissed. "Don't try me. I'm not even in the mood."

Gamzee stuck his tongue out at the back of his spiky head just as someone knocked on the door. The teacher stopped in the middle of writing an example sentence to scowl.

"Someone get the door," she said, irritation in every syllable. When no one moved, she picked up her pointer and cracked it against the board, catching most of her class off guard. "That wasn't a request."

A girl with wildly curly hair and a teal stripe on her sleeve bounced up and jogged to the door. Opening it, she grinned a shark's grin.

"Karkat's here," she announced to the room. There were a few snickers from the kids, silenced immediately by a sharp glance from the teacher.

The boy named Karkat entered the classroom, stopped, and swept his eyes across those assembled. Gamzee shivered as it settled on him and grew angry.

Karkat shifted his weight and tapped a foot on the ground as he scrutinized the wild-haired boy. "Who's that," he asked in a carefully neutral voice.

"His name is Gamzee and he is new," the teacher replied, casually inspecting the damage on her pointer and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the animosity rolling off of the boy in waves.

"He's in my seat."

"They're all the same." She waved the stick and a piece of wood flew off. "Pick a new one."

Karkat huffed and stomped over to Gamzee's row. After glaring at him for a while longer, he sat down in the seat next to him and dug around in his backpack for his books. Their teacher resumed writing her sentence down and smoothly launched into another discussion about sentence structure as if nothing had happened. To Gamzee's surprise, she seemed to like Karkat and called on him frequently to answer questions. Not surprising at all was the boy's reaction to all the attention: his scowl grew deeper and his ears turned a brighter shade of red as he stood up amid the giggles of the class to answer a question or provide an example. Perturbed, Gamzee quickly wrote a note to Eridan.

_dude, why's everyone pickin on karkat like that?_

Eridan glanced back at him and sighed. He wrote something down and passed it back.

_cause he doesnt have a color duh_

Gamzee looked at Karkat, who was furiously taking notes on the proper use of semicolons. He passed the note back with a response.

"Eridan, Gamzee? I know you're not passing notes."

Eridan cursed venomously under his breath. "No, Mrs. Kline. We're not."

"Then show me what you two were writing."

He stood up and made his way to the front of the classroom with his chin tilted defiantly upwards. No one smirked or giggled at him; rather, they watched wide-eyed with anticipation over whether one of the richest kids in the school would get punished. His fingers raked through his hair as Mrs. Kline scanned the note, balled it up, and tossed it near the trashcan.

"Go back to your seat. I don't want to catch you passing notes again."

"Yes, Mrs. Kline," Eridan murmured as he walked back to his desk. Everyone, barring Gamzee and the indifferent Karkat, released a disappointed sigh. One kid put a foot out to trip him, but Eridan saw it in time and made sure to step on it with his heel as he passed. He smirked with satisfaction at the kid's sharp intake of breath.

Gamzee felt his phone buzz in his pocket and skillfully unlocked it before taking it out. He looked at the unfamiliar number and, after checking to see if the teacher had seen anything, unlocked his phone to see who had texted him.

_Gamzee,_ it read, _This Is Kanaya I Got Your Number From A Friend Because I Forgot To Ask You What It Was I Hope This Does Not Come Off As Stalker-Like Behavior _

He blinked in confusion at the text and started to respond as Mrs. Kline called his name.

"Yeah?" he asked, jerking his head up.

"Do you care to join us anytime soon?"

Gamzee glanced around the classroom and saw Karkat furrow his brow at him, waiting for a response.

"Uh… sure?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Good. Now please come up here and write the proper tense of the verb in parenthesis in the blank."

He stood up and did so. While he was putting the marker back down, Mrs. Kline wrote his name in the corner of the board.

"Gamzee, make sure you stay after class so you can pick up an extra assignment as punishment for texting in class," she said as she inspected his answer. "Very nice job. Sit back down."

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he went back to his desk and rested his head on his arms. He felt a sharp tap on his shoulder and looked up into Karkat's face. His brows were still knitted together and his face remained one of repressed rage, but he looked more like he was studying Gamzee rather than trying to burn a hole though his soul.

"What?" Gamzee whispered.

"Are you trying to be an imbecile on purpose, or were you dropped on your head as a baby?"

His pulse quickened. He felt like wringing Karkat's neck.

"Well, I grew up around a crack addict, so I could get up to supposin' it's plausible I was all bein' dropped on my head," Gamzee snapped.

"Explains why you might be the stupidest asshole I've ever encountered," Karkat answered evenly. "You know, I'm actually looking forward to seeing your face when you receive Mrs. Kline's extra-special 23 page packet that is required to be handwritten and answered in complete paragraphs. Oh, and did I mention the mandatory near-calligraphic cursive? I don't think I did."

Gamzee made a horrified noise.

Karkat shrugged and returned to his notes. "Have fun."

* * *

He shoved the packet into his bag and stomped out of the room fuming. Checking his schedule, he pushed and shoved his way to the second floor and stormed down hallway after hallway until he was thoroughly lost in what seemed to be an abandoned part of the school.

"Fuck!" Gamzee threw his still-open backpack against a wall and watched as books, papers, and pencils flew out. A kid poked his head out of a door and regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"Wow. It's not even the beginning of second period and you're having a bad day? Shit man, stop trying to beat my record."

Gamzee glowered at the scrawny kid and forced a smile onto his face. "Me? Havin' a bad day? Hell naw, I'm just motherfuckin' fine, yo."

The kid looked back and stepped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him. "Bullshit. You're lost, aren't you?"

"Now how all did you motherfuckin' guess that," he answered sarcastically as he started to gather his things and put them in his backpack. The stranger's lisp was starting to annoy him.

"Where're you headed?"

He turned around and looked at the kid suspiciously. Forget the lisp; those mismatched eyes were beginning to freak him out. And what was up with the 3-D glasses perched on top of his head? "Why's it all bein' any of your motherfuckin' business?"

The kid covered his face and sighed. "I'm trying to help you, alright? Am I not allowed to be helpful?" He caught sight of other boy's tie. "Oh, I get it. You're a fucking purple. You don't need help from us _scholarship_ kids." He threw up his hands. "I get it. Let me just get back to class and leave you alone. Maybe I should kiss the ground at your feet and give you all of my money before I leave? Actually, you know what? Forget all of what I said; how about you just make it easier on all of us and GO THE HELL AWAY?"

The kid wrenched the bag from Gamzee's hands and threw it down the hallway, scattering even more papers and sending books flying. "I've got better things to do then babysit a self-entitled—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence; Gamzee had aimed a vicious punch to his jaw. Stumbling back and holding his mouth in pain, he picked up a stray pen and threw it at Gamzee's eye, an attack that was easily dodged and countered with another punch. He fell to the floor and held his hands up in surrender, face screwed up in a mixture of pain and apology.

"Look, look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by what I said!" He rubbed his head, messing up the twin spikes on the sides a little and pushing his glasses further back. "Look, can we just pretend none of that happened and start over?"

Gamzee's heart was still racing over the adrenaline rush, but he lowered his fist. Breathing heavily, he went to get his backpack.

"You're just going to walk away?" the other asked incredulously. "Dude, I'm trying to say sorry!"

Gamzee ignored him, knelt down, and began putting the scattered supplies back once more. He picked up his schedule, studied the room number, then looked at the nearest door. How had he managed to get this far away from where needed to go? There was no possible way he was that hopeless at directions. Gamzee looked back at the kid, who had stood up and was about to open the door to his classroom with a resigned look on his face. This boy had started a fight over something ridiculous, threw his stuff everywhere, and now looked like he was about to cry. After setting aside his emotions and weighing the options, Gamzee whistled.

"Yo."

The kid looked back at him. "Yeah?"

He waved his schedule. "You wanna get to motherfuckin' be helpin' me out with this?"

"Wait, you're not mad at me? You don't want to cause me to go blind from sheer blunt force trauma inflicted to my head by your fist?"

"Uh no. That's probably all a terrible thing to want, bro, even for a sorry-ass clown like me."

A smirk crossed his face. "Alright, then." He walked over and studied the piece of paper. "God, how did you manage to get this far off?"

"Don't ask." Although, it was probably because his mind was preoccupied over how much he had to write for English.

"Fine." Sollux pointed in the direction Gamzee had came from. "Just head back down the hallway, turn left, head down until you get to the fire extinguisher, and then turn right. Go down a bit and turn right again, then turn left at the stairs. You'll know when you're there."

"Thanks, bro." Gamzee put the schedule back into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Uh, what's your name?"

He frowned and mumbled something.

The other kid tilted his head and cupped his ear. "Hello? Didn't quite get that."

"Sollux," he said quickly. "Don't ask. It's a stupid name and I hate it, but it's way better than my full name."

"It's not that motherfuckin' bad, bro," Gamzee reassured him.

"It totally is, but whatever, it's not important." Sollux rubbed his jaw. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

As he was getting ready to leave, Sollux shoved something rectangular into his hand. Gamzee stopped to look at it and glanced back quizzically at the boy standing nervously behind him.

"Sburb?" Gamzee pronounced carefully.

"Yeah."

"What the mother fuck is it?"

"It's a game a friend and I made," he answered, rubbing his head again. "Uh, it's pretty much done and beta tested and everything. You just need to plug it in. If you want to, that is," Sollux added.

Gamzee tilted his head. "Why're you tryin' to all be nice to me all of a sudden?"

He shrugged. "We'll probably never cross paths again, so I just wanted to make sure there was no hard feelings." His head tilted down and he looked up at Gamzee from underneath his eyebrows with his freaky eyes. "No hard feelings, right?"

The other kid beamed. "Nah, no hard feelings at motherfuckin' all," he said, heading down the hallway.

* * *

Gamzee threw his things onto the grass and collapsed onto the curb after the bus drove away. He laid onto his back and stared at the clouds, contenting himself with finding abstract shapes rather than face the reality that was the massive packet he had to fill out and the other homework his teachers cruelly gave to him. Not one would listen to him when he said that he literally had no time to finish it; it was due the next day or he would get a 50 percent, no compromises.

His fingers twitched in response to his stormy mood. The old goat was going to have his head.

After an indeterminate amount of time spent watching the clouds float overhead and eventually disappear, Gamzee stood up and slouched inside to the elevator. He stood with his finger hovering over the up button for a few moments before executing an about-face and heading towards the stairs. Climbing all the way to the top floor should pull at least one muscle in his leg and earn him a few days off, unless his dad somehow had the knowledge to properly care for a sprained muscle.

Upon reaching his penthouse, Gamzee opened the door and fell onto the carpeted floor. The weight of his backpack turned him onto his side, where he clutched his sore legs to his chest. Unfortunately, other than the ridiculous lactic acid buildup in his muscles, nothing was sprained, pulled, or even mildly out of shape. He briefly entertained thoughts of shredding all of his homework and saying he lost it, but dismissed them with a shake of his head. His dad probably would have gotten hold of a syllabus and memorized all of the assignments on it for every one of his teachers.

Forcing his burning legs into supporting his weight, he gathered himself as best as he could and shuffled to his room. Gamzee snatched his tie from around his neck and threw it along with his backpack onto his bed. The mattress accommodated the weight of his books without a single bounce or squeak, but he couldn't even bring himself to appreciate the quality. He had homework to do.

Retrieving his English, math, and science books along with packet from his backpack, Gamzee wandered into the kitchen and dumped his things onto the table, freeing his arms for the raid on his refrigerator that soon followed. He sat back with a large container of rice and an equally large platter of steak, along with several bottles of soda, chips, and several delicate-looking pastries. By the time he had finished all of the food, most of the daylight and his homework was gone. All he had left to do were a few wicked-looking math problems.

He stood up and stretched, working out a deep cramp in his back from sitting hunched over a table for several hours straight. Glancing over, he read the time on the oven clock: 8:47. Why wasn't his dad home yet? Were late nights normal for him?

Gamzee shook his head, unsure of why he was worrying so much. His mother would usually stay out for days, sometimes weeks on end, and she always came back; the same had to apply to his dad. He stood up and walked back into his room to rifle through his backpack. His fingers brushed against the game Sollux had given him and he paused. Should he? It would be best if he finished his homework completely, but then again, it was nothing he couldn't finish in homeroom the next day.

"Let's find out what you're going to be motherfuckin' about," Gamzee whispered. Opening his laptop, he inserted the disc, a simple CD-ROM with Sburb scrawled across it in careful handwriting. While the game installed, a loading bar appeared and took up most of his screen. Odd little sayings scrolled across the bottom and a spirograph whirled around while the bar filled up, making Gamzee chuckle in appreciation. The pattern continued to spin around while he watched, and eventually, it disappeared, replaced by a floating "SBURB".


	11. Bitter Things

What the fuck was this guy's deal.

It wasn't the facepaint, the wild hair, or the accurate-to-the-very-last-crack bones tattooed all over his body that unnerved him. Even the delicate spikes driven through his lips were the least of his problems. No, it was the fact Gamzee mistook the man for a mirror when he first laid eyes on him. Tall, lanky build? Check. Angular face? Check. Joker smile? Check, but his was far more restrained then either Gamzee or his father could accomplish. In fact, despite his carefully disheveled and goth outer appearance, he carried himself with a quiet dignity that was tempered at the edges by... something. He wouldn't call it malice, but it was far from polite. As he watched the other Makara, for that was all he could be, move around the small club he retreated to, he noticed everyone else shuffle, push, and maneuver away from him as if the man was Satan himself. Perhaps he was; he certainly looked the part.

Gamzee wondered if they had the same issues. He desperately needed to talk to someone or else he feared losing it completely. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 2:41 A.M. It had been two weeks since he abandoned his home and his friends after almost killing Terezi's mother. Karkat was the first and last to call; up until yesterday morning, his phone was off and stashed under his mattress to escape the endless ringing and voicemails. Today when he reluctantly switched it on, the device had recorded over 200 missed calls with hours worth of voicemail rants at how angry his best friend was and the ways he would make Gamzee pay, not to mention the hundreds of novel-length texts all his former friends sent.

A yawn escaped his mouth. It really was late; he should probably go back to his hotel. Before he could finish off his beer, a familiar hand covered in bones grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, not quite hard enough to be comfortable, but hard enough that it reminded Gamzee of how a politician might squeeze shoulders with just the right amount of pressure to keep a person from pulling away.

Gamzee turned around. Standing inches away was his double, wearing a polite smile. Upon closer inspection, he saw why people avoided him: he was completely unsettling. There seemed to be no fat on his body, and his hair stood out from his head like the shadowy wings of a demon. His eyes were brighter than both Gamzee and his dad's, and they seemed to pierce through him and into the darkest corners of his mind. The stranger's smile tipped up slightly and his eyes narrowed, as if sharing in a private joke.

"See somethin' you motherfuckin' like, bitch?" Gamzee shrugged his shoulder out from his grip. "'Cause I ain't gettin' to havin' all fuckin' day or mornin' or night for you to stare at my motherfuckin' face."

In one smooth motion, the other Makara grabbed a hold of his chin and tipped it upwards. His smile grew even wider, and with the other hand he removed the spikes holding his mouth closed.

"If it isn't the motherfuckin' son of the crack bitch our father, bless his twisted motherfuckin' heart, dated on the side." He spoke in a rhythmic baritone that seemed cheerful enough, but barely concealed disdain dripped at the edges of his words.

"The mother fuck is that supposed to be gettin' to mean? Who the shit even are you?"

"Your half brother Kurloz, yo."

"I've never heard of you. And what motherfuckin' kinda name is Kurloz?"

He smirked. "What kind of name is Gamzee? Oh, wait; it's not your real name. It's stolen like you stole your mother's life, your friends' lives, and almost your own motherfuckin' life, am I right?"

Gamzee only stared dumbfounded. "How—"

"You're just a sinful little ninja, aren't you?" Kurloz interrupted him with a finger to the lips. "Blood and violence clings to your motherfuckin' skin like the hellfire that consumes heathens, leaving behind nothing but blackened bones fated to blow away in the wind. How do I know these things about you, you ask? Because I'm motherfuckin' fascinated by you. I know every wicked word of your story: how you murdered your mother in cold blood, how you let a game drive you crazy and make you kill a kittybitch and a horsefucker, and how you're so motherfuckin' crazy with guilt that you turned to drugs to make yourself feel better. But you know what?"

Both of his hands caressed his face, smearing the smile he painted around his mouth. "A little motherfucker like you shouldn't be feeling pain for a couple of useless heretics. Yes," he answered in response to Gamzee's jaw falling open, "heretics. Mirthless bitches they are, ruled by their own desires but not stopping to experience the miracles around them. Or, if they do, they celebrate the wrong ones. Why bother with the 'miracle' of life when you can worship the true miracles of double death? Why pray to a single false god of love when you can exalt the Messiahs or love _and _rage, whose miracles will bless their motherfuckin' believers with a swank-ass party planet where we will pour one out on the burning remains of this wretched existence."

Kurloz laughed. "I've sang your praises in the dopest rhymes I could throw down, and I was so damn excited to see you in my favorite spot to party. But here I am confronted not with the hero of my nightmares, but a scared child running from the dark. Ah, what am I to do?"

"You could start. With gettin' the motherfuckin' FUCK. Away from me," Gamzee answered through clenched teeth.

"No. Not until I get what I'm motherfuckin' looking for."

"What do you want to get to seein'? Shit, what do you want from me? Just say the word, I'll do motherfuckin' whatever you want just to get my ass away from you! Bitch-ass liar, you know nothin' on me. I ain't runnin' from the dark, I'm just not turnin' around and bendin' over to let it fuck me up the ass with the shit you're spoutin' right now!"

"I've made my choice. But you, you're still young, and so very malleable that I thought another perspective could help you. And plus, I just want to see your rage for myself, is that too much to ask?"

"Fuckin' creep!" Gamzee stumbled back out of Kurloz's grip and watched his half-brother with wary eyes. The spotlights and lasers shone against the back of his head, contrasting the deep shadows over his face. He stood like a prince at the helm of an army fighting a bloody war, watching over his men as they slaughtered thousands. He terrified Gamzee, but at the same time, ignited an anger he hadn't felt in two weeks.

"I ain't gonna show you fuckin' nothin'! You already went far on past a line that didn't need to be motherfuckin' crossed."

"Oh? Are you talking about me telling you the truth about those sheep you call friends? Motherfuckin' forgive me, but while I enjoy the anger that you are, in fact, showing me, I don't understand where it's coming from. None of them were really your friends. And if they were..." He shrugged. "Well, you did send an innocent woman to the hospital. I can't imagine anyone would want to be around you anymore."

"Say one more word and I'll send you motherfuckin' straight to Hell," Gamzee growled.

Kurloz's impossibly bright eyes shone from under his bangs and a twisted smirk wound across his face. "How do you expect to send me to Hell when I'm already there?"

"What?"

"I'm a bit partial to the angrier of the two Messiahs, as you can probably tell, and I serve his will any way I motherfuckin' can. So he blessed me with the ability to see into the motherfuckin' shadows. Hell can't be much worse than the shit I've seen, my ninja. And if I was honest..." He tilted his head upwards, adding to the privileged aura surrounding him. "You've got blackest shit I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing."

Gamzee scoffed and turned around. "I'm fuckin' done with this. You ain't done nothin' but waste my time with your lame as mother fuck preaching. I'm going home."

"Home? You have no home, Gamzee," Kurloz said.

He held up his middle fingers as he walked off, but it was an empty gesture. His brother was right.

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter because Gamzee's past Sburb shenanigans is a bit more important at this point than what's going on in the present and it takes longer to write. In other news, mean Kurloz is fun to write.**


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